


A Mirror Darkly

by Jaden Starling (2sp00ky4me)



Category: Original Work, The Delacroix Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28463514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2sp00ky4me/pseuds/Jaden%20Starling
Relationships: Jacoby Jensen/Jennifer Jensen (past), Reese Richards/Jacoby Jensen





	1. A Dark and Stormy Night

Thunder crackled in the distance, a strong, cold wind raking through the branches overhead, dislodging many of the remaining leaves its wake, spiraling them out into the darkness of the night. A thin sheen from some earlier storm blanketed everything, glistening softly in the intermittent flashes of distant lightning. Each streak of light illuminated a dark, foreboding sky, thick, roiling clouds and a sheet of darkness at the horizon a sure sign that another storm was moving in, fierce and unforgiving.

But for now, save the howl of the wind and the backdrop of thunder as the storm drew closer and closer, it was almost eerily quiet, even the crunch of freshly fallen leaves underfoot dampened with how saturated they were already with rain. The footfalls were quick, but purposeful, skirting around toward the darkest side of the house, where even the thin slivers of moonlight that managed to breach the approaching cloud cover could not reach.

At the front of the house, quiet whispers sounded, carried on the breeze, falling hush as a board on the front porch groaned beneath the weight of something moving. Briefly, a light shone through the downstairs window, too pointed to be a flash of lightning, though it was gone just as quickly as it arrived, and the whispers started up again. The footsteps toward the back of the house had quieted, too.

A light rain had begun to fall by the time a black gloved hand grasped onto the railing of the upper floor balcony, the quickening patter beginning to tap against the aged windows obscuring the scuffle of dark soles as feet touched the balcony floor. The next flash of lightning cast a long shadow inside through the doors and windows, the quiet tinkling sound of shattering glass timed to the following crash of thunder as the storm and the figure drew ever closer.

A heavy wind caught the door as it was pushed open, a long, deft arm catching it just before it hit the wall, the same dark shoes stepping inside as the door was closed quietly behind. Cool air wafted through the opening near the doorknob, where the glass had been shattered, the long curtains billowing as the drizzle outside gave way to a quickly strengthening deluge. Downstairs, the hushed whispers and creaks of wood were drowned out by the sounds of the wind and the rain. The footfalls inside were just as quiet.

The creeping chill wafted swiftly through the house as the lone figure peaked out into the hall, checking up and down its length before stepping into it, and the methodical search began. Door after door was quietly pushed opened, a black-gloved hand mindful of any creaking hinges, valuables ignored as the upper floor was perused. It wasn't until the singular, occupied bedroom was finally breached that the figure seemed to pause, a crackle of lightning and an almost immediate clap of thunder doing little to illuminate the black, and everything to obscure the sound as footsteps once more moved closer.

The mattress creaked softly under the added weight of a knee as the figure bent over the pale, still body upon the bed, hot breath obscured by a mask as black as the rest of what he wore. He seemed to regard the figure silently for a moment, his hand hovering between them, between the peace of sleep and the fear he knew would come with being awake. But whatever gentleness or ease he might have sought to convey was foiled by the sudden ring of the front doorbell echoing throughout the house, followed almost immediately by an audible crackle of lightning that struck the roof overhead. A telltale crackle reverberated through the air of the house, as every source of light or sound inside was cut off in an instant.

His hand came down swiftly, the black leather cupped over the nose and mouth of the man on the bed, the pressure of his taut arm enough to keep any thrashing or resistance of the figure beneath him as he kept his hand firmly in place. Blanketed in the dark shadows of the house, he would only shake his head silently, as though in warning, waiting to be certain the other male was watching him before he lifted a black finger to where a black mask presumably hid his lips. He wanted this to be _quiet_.

As a precaution against any sounds, his shushing hand drew low behind his back, a hollow, audible click sounding even through the pour of rain that struck the house from above. He was nothing but shadow, and yet the gun he pulled forward in his hand gleamed in whatever diffused glow managed to breach the windows, and it was not until it was seen that he pulled his other hand away, though his fingers hovered upon a fair chin until he got some signal of agreement and understanding. They _both_ wanted this to be quiet.

For safety.

The bed once more groaned, but this time because he moved back, his foot silent as he hit the floor, his gunless hand beckoning the other to follow. Beneath the dark of his hair and the long shadows of the room, it was impossible to see just how alert his gaze was, but it was easy to _feel_ it, as he watched for the smallest signs that his groggy captive thought it pertinent to try anything. The moment he had pushed himself to the edge of the bed, a sharp knocking began at the door downstairs, muffled in the distance and the rain, but enough for the man in black to act again.

He took hold of a slender arm with a grip that seemed to care little for the bruises it might cause, tugging him the rest of the way out of bed and against the stoic, unwavering stability of his rain-damped chest. They were off before he bothered to allow the other even a second to catch his balance, the man with the gun taking the lead, though the firm hold of his hand upon a slender shoulder and the hook of his arm across the other male's back made sure he was following quickly behind.

The nose of the gun nudged the bedroom door open and he once more checked the hall, the sleek, black metal gleaming once more in another peal of thunder. But as the light from above subsided, it wasn't the only one, sharp beams shining up from the stairs through the outside windows. The knocking came again, the additional rattling of the front door louder now that they were out in the hall. And then again, this time from the other side of the house.

He pushed them forward, still checking the doors as they passed silently through the halls, the gun always first, his grip always firm.

* * *

The town of Sable had been established in a valley nestled within a small range of mountains. In the early days, some of the residents made their homes along a narrow, winding mountain road while others settled along the base and in the valley itself. There had been few changes since the establishment of Sable, though in the modern era it had taken on the characteristics of a commuter town with the development of an improved road allowing residents to more easily transverse the range of mountains to nearby communities. Still, despite the minor changes in the town's character, Sable retained much of its early charm and was visited by most often by tourists seeking adventure in the nearby hiking trails.

Within the town, there were a number of small shops and businesses owned and operated by locals, in that sense the world outside had not yet _fully_ encroached. To the dismay of some, however, franchises of well-known chains had begun to appear in recent years. Sable, of course, had a city hall, a courthouse, a jail, emergency services, a hospital, a post office, and a number of services deemed essential by the local government. Due to the small population, there were only two schools in Sable, a primary school for kindergarten through seventh grade and a high school for eighth through twelfth grade.

Quaint and charming as the town was, it was not immune to the advances of the outside world nor the dangers that were present elsewhere. Despite boasting a population of just under four thousand residents, Sable had been the scene of a series of gruesome murders that had taken place decades prior. While most tourists who came through were interested in exploring nature, others had come with the intent of visiting the house where the original murders were committed. Unfortunately for ghost hunters and thrill-seekers alike, the house had been retained by a local family who had no interest in turning their home into a sideshow.

A few years ago, the aging couple who owned the house passed away. The childless couple had willed the estate to a niece and her husband who had previously lived in a metropolis far removed from Sable, though the niece had grown up in the town and lived there prior to going to college. For the most part, the murders were a grim shadow looming over the town and something many wanted to forget. However, the illusion of safety within the community was shattered when the niece who had inherited the house had been murdered in a manner identical to the victims of decades passed. The primary suspect, despite clearly having not been the original murderer, was the niece's husband, a historian who had taken up a position as a history teacher.

Prior to moving to Sable, Jacoby Jensen had high hopes for himself as a historian. While he had been working towards his goals, his wife had published her first novel which had quickly become a best seller and changed their lives seemingly overnight. Despite his wife's insistence that he didn't _need_ to work now, Jacoby was nevertheless adamant about at least finishing what he started regardless of whether their finances would be an issue. It hadn't been his wife's success as an author that killed Jacoby's hopes and dreams so much as it had been the death of her aunt and uncle and the impromptu move to a small town he knew nothing about.

***

Jacoby slept peacefully as the hours of late afternoon faded into twilight and night began to fall. As the evening wore on and the gentle sounds of wind and rain heralding the approach of a storm became audible from within the house, he continued to sleep, unbothered by the familiar ambiance outside the comfort of his bedroom. The dark semi-circles under his eyes hinted at many sleepless nights and the depth with which he slumbered now indicated that a steep sleep debt was owed.

Tonight was one of the better nights, a night in which blissful nothingness was all Jacoby experienced while dead to the world. In the days following his wife's death, his dreams had been far from untroubled and he was hopeful that they would lessen with time. If he were to be entirely truthful, the nightmares were only part of the problem and, more or less, a symptom of something more troubling. Several months ago, early last Spring, any sense of security within the walls of the old house the Jensens had called their home for nearly a decade had been disturbed in the most horrifying way possible. It might have helped if the perpetrator behind Mrs. Jensen's untimely demise had been apprehended, or if the police had a suspect - a suspect _other_ than Jacoby himself - to investigate and pursue.

Jacoby was _fairly certain_ he hadn't murdered his wife, though he had unfortunately been the one to discover her body. He was even more certain that the actual killer was still at large and biding their time. Grief and nightmares were one thing, but fear was another reason Jacoby struggled to get more than the occasional catnap during the daytime.

In the years leading up to the present, Jacoby was noted to have a tendency to leave work later than most teachers. He hadn't liked the idea of bringing his work home with him even if it meant a few extra hours stuck at the only high school for miles. That and neither of the Jensens were fond of the idea of having additional clutter in the form of piles of quizzes, tests, papers, and homework to grade. So, from a certain point of view, the hour in which he left work was irregular. However, upon further investigation, one would learn that Jacoby _did_ tend to leave work early for holidays, anniversaries, or any other event he expected to spend with his wife.

On the day of the Jensens' anniversary, Jacoby had left the high school shortly after the final bell rang and had proceeded home in a very direct route. Upon arriving, he had noticed nothing amiss immediately, though had been perplexed when he'd found a shattered coffee cup between his wife's office and the kitchen, but no sign of his wife. Assuming she was in the kitchen getting towels or a broom for the mess, Jacoby proceeded there and became increasingly confused as he did not discover his wife. Thinking she may have gone upstairs, he had headed towards the staircase and on his ascent noticed a hint of red in the living room. Uneasy, but on high alert, Jacoby reportedly descended the stairs and rushed into the sight that had left him catatonic for a month after.

As far as the public knew, Mrs. Jensen had been murdered and Mr. Jensen had been hospitalized, though the details had been kept guarded by investigators. In the ensuing chaos, Jacoby's parents had been contacted to handle their son's hospitalization and their daughter-in-law's funeral. According to the staff at the psych ward, Jacoby was generally unresponsive aside from when he was asleep, though he improved over the course of a month and was eventually discharged. To Jacoby's unending misery, he continued to be a person of interest in the case, which he read as 'suspect with not enough evidence against.' If he was thankful for anything, it was that he was at least allowed to keep his job, though it was cold comfort as he was also confined within the house where his wife had been murdered.

Tucked under a heavy comforter and nestled between soft sheets, Jacoby shifted only a little, burrowing deeper in response to a faint draft coming in from the doorway. Unaware of anything amiss within the room or even elsewhere in the house, he remained motionless save for the steady rise and fall of his chest and shoulders indicating that, despite looking like death warmed over, he was only asleep. The gentle creak of the mattress garnered no reaction from Jacoby as he continued to remain unaware of the figure looming over him and threatening to disrupt his much-needed rest.

The ringing of the doorbell cut through the stormy ambiance and just as Jacoby's eyes cracked open he felt something clamp down over his mouth and nose. While he was very much concerned that the killer could easily return to claim a second victim, Jacoby had experienced enough incidences of sleep paralysis, nightmares, and the occasional somewhat lucid dream to be unsure what was happening. Still, unsure as he was, and half-convinced this was just another nightmare, he thrashed around and tried to feebly push the unyielding hand away from his face with no such luck.

It wasn't long before Jacoby quickly realized that this _wasn't_ a dream of any sort and as his eyes adjusted he could make out the outline of a figure against the darkness of the room. The movement of the figure's head caught his attention and the movement of the same figure signaling for him to be quiet caused him to cease his struggles. Certain this was not a dream, Jacoby's next assumption was that this was, _optimistically_ , a robbery.

Hopeful that he wasn't going to be victim number two, Jacoby lay still, pondering what exactly had woken him up onto to recall the doorbell. Before he could groggily follow that line of thought, the gleam of something metallic caught his attention and Jacoby felt his stomach drop. For a long, tense moment, there was no movement from Jacoby as he considered all the possibilities. His wife's murderer hadn't used a gun, that much he knew, but that didn't mean they didn't carry one, which left him far less optimistic that he'd survive this encounter.

When the hand covering his mouth and nose finally pulled away, Jacoby breathed in but didn't move to make any sound. Despite the confidence he had in the fact that he _had_ heard the doorbell, he didn't necessarily know if there was anyone to hear him if he did make a sound. Pressing his lips into a thin line, another moment passed in which he made no attempt to either move or make a sound, though he did squint somewhat while trying to make out further details of his assailant's face. In the midst of a storm, Jacoby quickly realized there was no moonlight to aid him, but he was certain the man wore a mask.

To be fair, everyone was wearing masks these days.

When his assailant moved off of the bed, Jacoby pondered all the horrible ways he might be killed before he realized the man was urging him to follow. As panicked as he'd been, he was still shaking off grogginess, but nevertheless moved to follow. Even as his bare feet touched the cold wooden flooring, Jacoby was left wondering if cooperation was the best course of action. The knocking at the door downstairs caused him to jump a little, but it reminded him that _someone_ was outside and at the door. It was unknown to him if his assailant was acting alone, if there was an accomplice in the house, if whoever was at the door _was_ the accomplice, or if there were several people involved.

With too many unknown factors, Jacoby remained where he was, though his gaze moved across the room while he contemplated his chances of dodging a bullet by diving under the bed. Before he could consider the wisdom of rushing past the man for the door, he felt a hand grasp his arm hard enough to cause him to flinch. As he was pulled along, Jacoby dug his heels into the floor reflexively, for just a second before deciding against trying to delay whatever goal the intruder had in mind. Upon reaching the hall, he noted that there were a lot of lights and sounds coming from outside but he struggled to make sense of it.

As they proceeded out of the room and down the hall, it became increasingly obvious that the gun wasn't being pointed _at him_. Even half asleep and confused, Jacoby had the distinct feeling that the intruder was looking for someone else in the house. The temptation to point out that he lived alone was strong, but he bit his lip and reminded himself that it was best not to annoy the man with the gun.

* * *

The shattering of glass sounded from downstairs, quiet, but loud enough without the mask of rumbling thunder. The man's search seemed truncated by the sound, as they pushed quickly into a storm-darkened bedroom as it continued to assail the blackness beyond the windows. Despite the seemingly unanticipated turn of events, he acted no less swiftly, on the move after but a quick sweep of the room. His grip remained firm, and his foot quietly nudged the door not quite closed behind them as more and more sounds emanated from the floor below.

The sound of muffled talking, hurried footsteps, and the storm, all coming now from inside the house.

He did not, the moment he had the other male pressed against a dresser, seem to see much need in keeping his gun aloft, though the fact that it had silently disappeared, likely behind his back once more, was evident only in the hands he placed upon the slighter male. Alternating between a firm hold upon his back, and the firm press of his hips, he kept the other in place with little more than the threat of a firearm or whatever else he might have concealed on his person as he, with both haste and efficiency, patted the de facto homeowner down.

His gloved hands would run down the other male's sides, and lower to anywhere that could conceivably hold pockets, though he seemed to pause when he found none, before apparently being satisfactorily convinced he was unarmed and ill-equipped. Somewhere between the rumble of thunder overhead was a distant creak, though not one distant enough that it could not have been upon the stairs, which seemed to hasten his act and roughen his sensibilities as he pushed the other forward, and held him there beneath his hand, bent over the dresser.

It would take only a moment of rifling through the adjacent door for him to come away with something apparently sufficient enough, and he relinquished his hold only to pull the other's wrists back behind him, and bind them together in a sharp, tight yank of fabric. The pressure of his hips relented some as he suspected the fact that he now had two and his captive had none gave him the upper hand, and any protests he could have heard were stifled by another restraint, this time secured around the other's mouth.

Voices could be heard louder now, approaching up the stairs though they seemed to be moving slowly, almost methodically, the development enough for him to act quickly against. With a firm hand upon the same arm, he tugged the other off of the dresser, dropping him into the small closet with another artful shrug. He stopped only to stoop low, offering another hushing gesture in warning before moving to secure his legs together as well, and shut the closet door behind himself, the slats upon them offering limited visibility in the intermittent flashes of lightning.

The patter of rain was enough to mask any footsteps, and it was impossible to tell where he went, though it was not long before the door he had left ajar creaked slowly open. A beam of light shone low throughout the room as louder footsteps thudded across the floor toward the center of the room, and the door creaked slowly again. A question began and died upon the second man's lips, as the sounds of a quiet scuffle swiftly ensued, before another, definitive thud dropped a body to the floor.

With a quiet grunt, it was moved, drug before the closet doors, another crackle of lighting illuminating the crumpled silhouette of a tall, well-built man, whose size was more than enough to effectively block the closet. A muffled groan was enough to signal that, while he was still alive, any aid he could provide would likely be harried and limited, and hardly expeditiously forthcoming. There was, once more, no sound of footsteps.

The second scuffle was further away, occurring only after minutes of silence, somewhere just beyond the bedroom door, though it moved inside rather quickly. As before, it would be punctuated with another dull thud, and then silence. Next there would come the sound of a shout from elsewhere in the house, and the eventual sound of something shattering, before the storm alone took dominion over the house. But the footfalls, this time, were far from silent as they fell heavily upon the steps, and another limp figure was tossed to the floor.

The victor took only one step into the room before the storm cut enough to carry the sound of sirens upon its unkind wind, and he swore venomously under his breath, the words muffled by the mask he wore.

With seemingly no more regard for quiet, the doors to the closet were yanked open after the groaning man upon the floor was nudged out of the way with a careful foot, the same gloved hand once more grabbing the same, bruised arm as he hefted the other to his feet. With haste in mind as the sound of sirens grew nearer, he did little other than kick at the tight but uncomplicated binding around the other's legs to make sure they were loose enough as he began to drag the male off once more, stepping around and over the three dark figures strewn upon the bedroom floor. The one that had unconsciously guarded the closet door reached out suddenly to grab for their legs, but a swift kick was enough for him to fall still again, and they did not stop a second time.

In the hall the storm and the sirens were louder, the front door still ajar from when the house had been entered, and even from the top of the stairs they made their way down, the shattered remnants of something strewn across the lower landing were a sure enough sign of the earlier struggle. The lightning that flashed above the trees was joined by the rhythmic strobing of blue and red, their pace quick and seemingly determined as they reached the first floor, the eerie sounds and distinct colors of an imminent police presence surging through the storm mottled in the rain.

* * *

  
In spite of his initial grogginess, what little information he could pick up about the situation had urged Jacoby to wake up just a bit faster. The sight and presence of a gun had set off the initial adrenaline rush, which did little to help when the options of fight or flight were limited and freezing was all that remained. Panicky and helpless to do anything while dragged along by his assailant, it was the sound of breaking glass a floor below them that cleared the remnants of brain fog.

One intruder breaking in and dragging him out of bed for whatever purpose was bad enough, but knowing that there were several now was nearly too much to handle. Miserably, Jacoby thought of the damages piling up below and of all the work that had gone into restoring parts of the house. The windows, while simple enough to fix, were the lesser of evils as Jacoby imagined people trampling around on the new flooring and carpeting that had been put in last winter. He was left with the feeling that, if he survived tonight, he'd have some amount of cleaning to do and then he'd need to look into repairing the broken glass.

Actually, the first thing Jacoby was going to do was try to make the house more secure. In hindsight, and knowing there was an active serial killer copycat, he realized it had been careless on his part not to take additional measures, even extreme ones, to safeguard the house. Sure, crime was nearly nonexistent in the small town of Sable, but given the circumstances perhaps turning into a paranoid recluse wasn't that bizarre. Then again, the thought of packing up his life and skipping town sounded better and better with each passing second. That was, _of course_ , assuming he lived to do that and the authorities didn't immediately freak out and try to arrest him.

Lost in his thoughts for only a moment or two, Jacoby was drawn back to the present matter at hand when he found himself pressed against a dresser. He moved to try to slap the hands patting him down away, only to pause midway through the attempt. Despite the gun not _presently_ being in his captor's hands, Jacoby decided he didn't need to give the man reason to use it. Aside from the faint tremble that accompanied being cold and afraid, Jacoby held as still as he could. He did try to move once, in response to the creak of a stair, but the press of a hand against his back prevented him from doing much more.

As his hands were pulled behind him and as he felt his wrists being tied together, Jacoby decided, based solely on the haste with which his captor moved, that the intruders downstairs were not his accomplices. That did make him ponder at who the man was, who the people downstairs were, and what they were all doing breaking in on the same night. As much as he wanted to voice his questions he couldn't, so he didn't, though that did nothing to stop his imagination from trying to fill in all the blanks.

Slumping further against the dresser, Jacoby was for the time resigned to what was happening as he let out a shaky breath he had been holding. He could hear the approach of the people who had broken in downstairs, but he couldn't understand what was being said or guess how many of them were ascending to the second floor. Before he could think too hard about who these people were or what exactly was happening, Jacoby was once more tugged upright. Half expecting to be dragged around his house some more, he quickly realized his captor had other plans as Jacoby was unceremoniously tossed into the nearby closet.

Scooting backward, Jacoby's back hit the back of the closet as his captor stooped down. Unmoving and unresponsive, Jacoby only watched as his legs were tied together before his captor shut the door. Alone for the time being, and unsure what his captor hoped to accomplish, he immediately moved to try to get his hands free without making much noise. Thankfully, the material of the fabric around his wrists was yielding enough that Jacoby was able to loosen the knot before slipping it free from his wrists entirely. If it had been a more rugged material or something ropelike he doubted he'd have been so lucky. With his hands now free, Jacoby moved to yank the fabric over his mouth down before reaching to untie his legs.

In the midst of trying to free himself, the events transpiring outside of the closet were not lost on him. Glancing up through the slats, Jacoby watched as one man entered and a scuffle ensued. With minimal lighting he couldn't be entirely sure of just how it was going or who was winning, though _someone_ clearly won as a body was tossed over and, to Jacoby's frustration, blocking the door to the closet. Deciding he had to do _something_ , he moved to try to push the door open from the inside but was far less lucky in that endeavor as it refused to budge.

The only thing that reassured Jacoby of his survival was the fact that the body blocking the closet was still alive. If his captor hadn't used a gun now, against people he was actively engaged in a series of scuffles with, Jacoby doubted the man intended on using it on him. Distantly aware of a second scuffle, Jacoby shifted to the side, behind some old clothing, and hoped the victor wouldn't be able to find him.

It didn't surprise Jacoby in the least that his bid at hiding failed when the closet door was yanked open and a hand grabbed his bruised arm to pull him to his feet. Jacoby doubted the man was going to shoot him, at least not now, but he also didn't want to wait to find out why his captor had broken in in the first place. Once they were in the hall, the sound of sirens became more apparent and Jacoby had to wonder how this would end. He didn't like the idea of this devolving into a standoff between a home invader and the police, but he also didn't want to idly wait around helplessly.

There was also the fact that Jacoby didn't fully trust the police to go out of their way to ensure his survival.

It was when they were descending the stairs that he had finally decided to act. As they reached the first floor, Jacoby dropped rather suddenly, slipping out of his captor's grasp and landing on the floor unceremoniously. Unwilling to wait for his captor to realize what had happened, or do anything about it, Jacoby scrambled off to the side and moved to try to get his feet under him. Try as he might, despite getting free and then getting to his feet to try to run, he quickly realized he didn't have a plan nor a way to defend himself against his erstwhile captor.

* * *

As the sounds of sirens and flash of lights drew closer, his goal of descending the stairs seemed singular and steadfast. A chill wind howled through the large front doors, thrust open wide by the wind, a small pile of broken glass accounting for how they had been breached to begin with. They rattled unpleasantly against their hinges, shuddering as though from the piercing cold that billowed inside a house once warmer. What rain could be carried by gusts so violent misted at their feet as they neared the first-floor landing, the only light outside the rhythmic strobe of red and blue and the occasional clap of thunder overhead.

At the sight of something more shattered upon the wooden floors, porcelain of white and blue, his hand rose instinctively to the back of his neck, the momentary distraction seemingly enough for his grip to be slipped. He seemed only to pause, and watch his erstwhile captive's failed attempt at a true escape, though whether he was simply too stunned by the development, or unconcerned, was answered with an action both swift and decisive as the other male rose shakily to his feet. His grip returned, the reach of a long arm all it took to close the minimal distance gained between them, and he tugged the smaller male forward.

It was only a moment, in which their eyes might have met if not for the darkness, and in which he searched for some answer. Whether he found it he did not bother to voice over the thunder as another tug pulled the blond forward, his wall-like stature seemingly impervious to unfocused struggle. The tug was coupled with a perilous drop of his shoulder, and when he rose to his full height again, it was with the weight of the other's body hefted over his back. One arm, cinched around the waist, was all it took to keep his captive captive once more as he walked them out into the night.

No sooner had his footfalls reached the first creak of the porch outside than the sounds and sights of approaching police vehicles broke through the canopy of trees as the first barreled from the drive and into the courtyard. It stopped short in a spray of water and gravel, another behind it and then another, followed by the introduction of white into the mix of colors and an ambulance took up the rear. He seemed as undaunted by each as he was by the rain they walked into, quick footsteps bringing them both down the steps and toward the scramble of raincoat-clad officers who emerged from the vehicles, guns, and flashlights drawn alike.

He paused only steps away from the porch, his weight shifting to one side, the gesture of his freed arm obscured to his captive. The officers shouted in code before they rushed forward, swiftly muddied footsteps trampling the porch as two pairs of them surged inside, and a pair moved to circle the house. Unabated, they moved again, the firmness of his hold having not shifted all the while, his strides as purposeful now as they had been before. It was not until they reached the edge of the ambulance that he stooped once more, depositing his offering upon its open lip before stepping away. The medics on duty were quick to take over from there.

It all happened very quickly after that, the storm letting up as fast as it had come in a drizzle that blurred the continuously flashing lights and seemed to paint the scene in more colors than they had on offer. The medics were quick to act, inspecting him over and over again, asking questions and giving no answers of their own. The man in black had stepped away to talk to the remaining officer outside, who leaned down to his shoulder-mounted radio from time to time, though all they had to say was obscured by the masks that everyone wore with an almost suspicious dutifulness. Not long after, he disappeared inside once more, as the police began to trickle out.

The men they dragged out with them seemed daze and uneager to resist as they were shoved, handcuffed, into the back of the patrol cars, and despite calling for a thorough sweep of the house, they found only the same three. It would be a while before he would be back outside again, and longer before the medics seemed convinced enough to stop their thorough inspection. He was offered the cover of an umbrella as they huddled together to speak, which he waved away dismissively, shaking his head at each man pulled from the house and loaded into a car. Offered the same attention by an approaching medic, he ducked away from the attempt, only nodding toward the squad car.

Between the five of them, he was nowhere in the worst shape.

As the conversation continued without him, his gaze lifted, drawn toward the ambulance, before the same, silent footfalls moved across wet stone and he, once more, approached. Even in the light, his hair remained dark, soaked black in the rain, most of his pale face obscured by the mask he still wore. No one stopped him as he neared, the rest seemingly content to look over the men he had floored, sweep through the house and property once more, or begin the large, arduous process that was sure to be ample paperwork. He stopped just short of pinning the other where he sat, as though half certain he would run given half the chance, strong thighs pressed lightly against slenderer legs.

The first thing he offered was not a word, but a phone, pulled from his back pocket, dry but for the faint dampness upon his glove-clad fingers, retrieved from where he had found it plugged in beside the bed."So," he said, his voice low and deep and not altogether unlike the distant rumble of thunder, though the round of his cheeks above the top of his mask made a smile easy enough to guess at. He let go once the device was securely in the other's hands, though he did not move away. "I guess you didn't check your phone." 

Unknown  
  
Jacoby  
  
This is det Richards, the new assignment to your case  
  
A proximity alarm went off on your property. There's someone there. I'm coming now  
  
I need you to find something to protect yourself with and somewhere to hide. Can you do that?  
  
Are you safe?  
  
I'm almost there  
  
Can I trust you?  
  


Once more, the support beneath the other would dip as he moved to sit, saying nothing more as he reached both arms around slender shoulders, the slighter male, for just a moment, pulled against his chest. When he drew back, it was with a trauma blanket in hand, thin and crinkly and warm as he pulled it around Jacoby's shoulders before settling in silently beside him, content to watch the lights dance upon the thin flurry of rain.

* * *

Before Jacoby could get further than standing on his own feet, he felt a hand close around his arm once again. To his credit, he didn't immediately give up even when his captor tugged him forward. It quickly became apparent that trying to yank his arm free proved to be about as successful as digging his bare heels into the rain-slick surface of polished wood floors. In spite of his struggling, Jacoby felt the world tilt before he was picked up and carried by his captor. Feeling faintly dizzy, he moved to try to escape, though the arm around his waist kept him from going anywhere. 

While his captor proceeded forward to the doors that had been flung open, Jacoby's struggles finally ceased as he went limp in the masked man's grasp. He was reasonably confused about what was going on, but he doubted that, if the man carrying him had ill-intent, that he would be so casually strolling out to meet the police as they pulled into the courtyard. Nevertheless, while he didn't feel that he was in immediate danger he was still so confused and uncertain about what had just transpired, the identity of the man carrying him, and what the other three intruders had wanted. 

As it continued to rain around them, Jacoby's trembling hadn't stopped and, if anything, it seemed to worsen when exposed to the chill of evening autumn air. Within his peripheries, he noted that some of the officers who had just arrived had rushed inside and others around back, but the as of yet unidentified masked man carrying him continued on and it wasn't long before it dawned on him that he was being taken to an ambulance. It was when he was finally set down and left at the mercy of the medics that Jacoby arrived at the realization that he had, more than likely, been in minimal danger the entire time. 

Well, _relatively speaking,_ he had been in minimal danger. As he glanced back towards the house he reminded himself that he didn't know the intent of the others who had broken in and were still inside. At the medic's prompting, Jacoby's attention was drawn to the matter of his well-being instead of what could have happened if he'd remained asleep, alone, and unaware of any danger. 

In response to the questions being asked, Jacoby either nodded or shook his head vehemently, insistent in his belief that he was _mostly_ fine, at least physically. Upon further prompting, this time with questions that couldn't be answered with a yes or a no, Jacoby gestured to his throat and shook his head. Finally, a pad of paper and a pen found their way into Jacoby's hands and he took a moment to answer any remaining questions in writing. The continuous trembling and the splatter of raindrops left the answers messy, but legible enough to read. 

Hopeful that the medics understood that the worst he was dealing with was some mild bruising on one arm and a severe case of anxiety, Jacoby's attention drifted back to the house. Impassively, or perhaps too exhausted to care now that he was out of the [danger zone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yK0P1Bk8Cx4), Jacoby watched while the three who had broken in were lead out of the house and into the back of patrol cars. He was curious what all of this was about, if it was a simple robbery or something more sinister, but for that he suspected he'd need to speak to someone who actually knew what was going on. 

When the darkly dressed man reemerged, dull, tired blue eyes sought him out, though for the moment it looked as if he was busy. For now, and because the medics were still poking and prodding at him, Jacoby decided he could wait a while for an explanation. 

Calmer, though not as calm as he would have liked to be, Jacoby noted the man in black's approach and willed himself to remain where he was despite the desire to get up and bolt. Reminding himself that his fear was residual and entirely irrational, he only watched as the man came to stand just beside him, close enough that their legs pressed against each other. Curiously, he looked up, waiting for _something_ as he knew well enough that if a verbal conversation were to be initiated here and now, it would not be by him. Before a single word was uttered though, the man retrieved something from his back pocket and held it out. Eyes alight in recognition, Jacoby reached out and accepted his now fully charged phone. 

_"I guess you didn't check your phone."_

Before Jacoby could unlock his phone, his gaze was drawn back up to the masked man's face as he spoke. Realization dawning on him once more, Jacoby looked down at his phone again and entered in the passcode. As the screen unlocked, he scanned over the first bit of the message preview from a new series of messages from an unknown number. Tapping at the notification, the message app opened up and he scanned over what the unknown number had sent while he had been asleep. Breathing in, Jacoby looked as if he were about to try to say something, only to stop short of that and give a slight shake of his head. 

Opting for his phone and not the discarded notepad, Jacoby paused, glancing back up at Detective Richards and hoping he was understood. Brows knitting together, Jacoby arrived at a decision before he continued to text. 

Unknown  
  
Can I trust you?  
  
I was asleep.  
  
Sorry, I have a slight problem you could say.  
  
Anxiety-induced, it'll resolve itself soon.  
  
It usually does  
  


Glancing once more at the detective, Jacoby hoped he'd either got his own phone out or was reading off of Jacoby's screen. Regardless, Jacoby was more than happy to let the detective glance over his messages so far. Behind him, and just a little off to the side, lay the notepad he'd used to communicate with the medics. The words 'selective mutism' appeared in big, blocky letters along the top, though the lines were hardly straight and the ink was smudged by drops of water. 

Typing away, then frowning, Jacoby took a moment to try to work out how he wanted to phase his question of what exactly had happened and if the detective knew why the men who broke in had done so. As he typed, he paused at the dip caused by the detective sitting beside him. He stiffened somewhat as arms moved around his shoulders. The moment he was pulled against a broad chest, his nervous trembling became more pronounced, but otherwise, he made no attempt at moving away. The trauma blanket, as unnecessary as he thought it was, remained in place around Jacoby as the detective settled in beside him. 

Unknown  
  
What can you tell me about what just happened?  
  



	2. Detective Richards

He watched curiously as the blond took his phone in hand, as he had, after all, a keen interest in observing the man he stood before now. The first he wanted to see confirmation of was that Jacoby, indeed, hadn't gotten to his phone in the past hour, or was otherwise an exceptionally artful liar. His last text, after all, was still at the forefront of his thoughts, despite the general pleasantness of his demeanor, if only because he saw no reason to make this harder.

And he maybe had some sympathy for the just as likely possibility that Jacoby was entirely as he appeared.

Reese only nodded receptively, aided by the vantage point of his towering height and the advantage of his keen gaze and so only needing to lean over a little to make out the other's screen. He could only confirm the explanation as likely insofar as he had found him in bed, and had startled him quite convincingly awake. As for the rest, well... though it was obscured by his mask, he offered a tight-lipped smile of cryptic meaning. He already knew.

Realizing that, perhaps, it would make things easier, if not more comfortable, he reached up, the hook of a single, glove-clad finger and the slow, precise shake of his head enough to pull his mask off entirely. He cringed for a moment as he dropped it into his lap, the lingering humidity of a place and a season where it seemed to rain so much more often than he was used making the whole mask-wearing business a might more unpleasant. But the air was cool, and after slipping off his gloves too, the rub of a hand upon a lightly stubbled jaw was enough to feel some normalcy in his face.

He did not let his hand fall away until after he took the moment to run fingers through his dark, damp hair. Just as much as he was ordinarily clean shaven, he was used to having it cut a bit shorter and a bit more neatly, though such vanities had found themselves severely waylaid by social distancing. So he made do, but frowned no less deeply at the likelihood that his hair was a mess between the rain and physical activity, though all the brush of his fingers would really do was detach the strands that had stubbornly begun to stick to his pale face.

"I've been in quarantine for two weeks since getting reassigned," was the first thing to offer as he glanced back over toward the male beside him, both as a preamble to what else he had to say, and an explanation that he hoped would quell any alarm at his lack of face coverage. "Well..." His gaze lifted for a moment, a wry sort of smile taking his lips as he allowed himself a quick huff. "Thirteen days, at least. Tomorrow would have been a full fourteen." But tomorrow Jacoby might have been dead, and so it had seemed a risk worth taking. Not generally in the habit of breaking rules without good reason, he had at least a handful of them.

"So I've had a lot of time to peruse..." he paused, his gaze flicking back down, though he supposed Jacoby would know well enough what he meant. He was supposed to be smart, after all. " _Everything_." From case files, to medical notes, to the sort of petty gossip that seemed to string small towns like these together, Reese had let no stone go unturned. It wasn't exactly his style to do otherwise.

As he shifted the thoughtful fold of his arms across his chest, he was aware by the quiet ticks from beside him that Jacoby was typing again, and he leaned over to get a look. He frowned, a low hum signaling his thought process though he did not answer right away, and, in the end, only shook his head. The rain continued to fall, picked up by the wind, and, for a moment, his attention shifted as he peered out into the night, the deep but muted blue of his irises catching hues of stormy violet in the intermittent flashes of light.

"Here," he said somewhat suddenly, less an answer in that he meant to answer nothing by it, and more of a command. He coupled it with a pat of his farther knee, and when that did not quite seem to register fully, with an insistent nod of his head and gesture of his hand. While he was dressed warmly enough for a night like this, the last thing he wanted was a sick victim-or-killer on his hands, and he was persistent about insisting Jacoby pull his legs into the ambulance, and out of the direct rainfall. And the moment the male complied, he moved to aid, pulling pajama-clad legs over his own, and shifting Jacoby closer so that the blond was not quite sitting in his lap.

Another trauma blanket was snatched from the array and tucked swiftly but efficiently around the other's legs, as a ward against any chill that might set in too deeply. While one arm bent over the legs across his own and his hand came to rest upon the blond's outer thigh to keep them securely in place and offer what warmth he could, his other moved behind them, and he leaned back upon it and to the side, taking another quick glance at the screen. He frowned once more, but remained focused in the event of more questions.

"I can't really tell you anything about those clowns," he sighed, casting a glance over at the police car with a by now particularly packed back seat. He had, of course, pieced a few things together, though he had nothing much more than intuition and experience to base them on. "I don't think they meant to kill you." Reese wasn't entirely sure this was a relief other than in retrospect, or how helpful it was, but it certainly made the whole ordeal more annoying. " _Or_ rob you, maybe. At least not blind." Though he wouldn't have been surprised at some petty theft in the process. Recalling the lack of weapons, the absence of general preparedness, and the particular attention to banging on the doors, he'd put at least a couple bucks on his current best guess.

"I do think they wanted to scare you," he sighed, though _why_ he could only speculate. Because he might have been a copycat killer, or because he might have been stupid enough to live in a haunted house, or because he might have been unfortunate enough to suffer a genuine tragedy, there was no option that struck Reese as a particularly _good_ reason for what had just transpired other than them being stupid enough to think they wouldn't get caught. Recalling the poorly hidden Jeep down the road that he had already _disabled_ , seasoned criminals, he suspected, they were not. "I should have more answers for you in the morning. Not better ones, maybe, but at least more."

"As for my end of things, I can probably elaborate just a bit more," he decided, with little gap between topics; it wasn't as though he expected he'd be interrupted. "You saw the texts," he confirmed. "And you know very well what the various angles of investigation are that the police have taken so far." Namely, the possibility that he was, himself, his wife's murderer. Save not spelling out every detail in brutal fashion, there was nothing sugar-coated about the detective's explanation. "I needed you quiet-- _secure_ \--to make sure you stayed out of their grasp in the event they _had_ wanted to hurt you. But also in case you were somehow involved."

For as unlikely as that seemed, most especially after seeing the blond and his poor escape attempts in person, he'd still had good reason for his continued diligence. "That, and I was operating under the assumption that your professed general lack of sleep would mean you'd hear your phone. Not to mention..." Despite himself, Reese offered the blond a smile, though he somehow doubted it was helpfully reassuring. "I don't exactly want to be your second victim, Mr. Jensen." Again, _unlikely_ , but not, so far as he could tell, impossible.

* * *

_"Tomorrow would have been a full fourteen."_

While glancing up from his phone, Jacoby paused as he finally got a decent look at Detective Richards. Tapping lightly against his phone, he looked as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't find the words or his voice. Thankfully, before he could express concern for himself or the detective, he was given some assurance that it was unlikely he might catch anything potentially deadly. He did have a feeling that the rainfall and chill had a reasonably good chance of giving him a mild head cold. 

__

Unknown  
  
I tested negative a month ago.  
  
I haven't left the house since.  
  
I've rarely left the house in the months before that.  
  


__

_  
_

In the month he'd been quarantined, the only contact he had with the outside world had been virtual. Zoom calls for his classes happened Monday through Friday from seven in the morning until two in the afternoon with a lunch break in the middle. Calls to his therapist happened fairly regularly, often on Friday from three to four in the afternoon unless something came up. Once in a while, he'd get a facetime call from his parents, but that was seldomly scheduled. Saturdays were usually when groceries were delivered and, despite initial complaints by the locals, Target had been a lifesaver. 

__

Unknown  
  
I would like for you to trust me.  
  
But I understand why you wouldn't.  
  
I don't believe I'm a danger to you  
  
or anyone really.  
  


__

_  
_

_"So I've had a lot of time to peruse..." ... "_ Everything. _"_

Jacoby paused once more as he finished his most recent message to the detective. Looking up, then further off into the rainy, night sky, he contemplated how he felt about various details of his life being known to a number of people involved with the case. Normally he'd have felt somewhat violated, but for the sake of potentially clearing his name and catching whoever was responsible for his wife's death, he had accepted it as a necessity. 

**Case Files and Information**

__

**The Victim**

Mrs. Jensen was local to the area, having been born and raised in Sable. After graduating high school, she had left in pursuit of greater things in the outside world. Following her success as a best-selling author of mysteries and thrillers, and after the deaths of her great-aunt and uncle, she and her husband relocated to Sable. 

Mentally and physically, Mrs. Jensen had suffered no documented ailments. However, it is worth noting that Mrs. Jensen had trouble conceiving and suffered one miscarriage a little over a year prior to her murder. Whether this potentially leans credence to the notion that Mr. Jensen is the murderer is uncertain at this time. 

According to the townspeople and friends of the couple, Mrs. Jensen was generally the more introverted of the two and always seemed more at peace when alone. Despite having grown up in Sable, little is known personally about Mrs. Jensen as she often kept to herself even as a child. Aside from an interest in writing mystery novels and collecting antiques, she enjoyed treks through mountain trails with her husband. 

**The Husband**

Mr. Jensen had been born and raised in a large city off to the west and had met Mrs. Jensen while in college. For the most part, he had a fairly normal childhood in an upper-middle-class neighborhood on the fringes of a metropolitan. He was also an only child and there was never any indication that any neglect or abuse had ever taken place during his childhood. To this day, Mr. Jensen appears to have a positive relationship with both his parents. 

For the most part, Mr. Jensen has no known physical maladies. However, he has reportedly struggled with anxiety and selective mutism as a teenager, something he had worked through in college and, more or less, overcome as an adult. Unfortunately, he now reportedly suffers from acute stress disorder as a result of his wife's untimely death and it is believed that this has also caused his anxiety to resurface. At this time it is unclear if his acute stress disorder will develop into post-traumatic stress disorder. 

While Mr. Jensen is generally thought of as less introverted than his wife, he is more of an ambivert. As a child, Mr. Jensen tended to prefer a small, close group of friends and was neither a loner nor a social butterfly. Aside from history, Mr. Jensen has interests in both photography and various outdoor activities. 

**The Crime Scene**

Mrs. Jensen's body had been found in the living room just below the window looking out into the back of the property. The backdoor leading outside was beside her and the window as well. The room was in disarray by the time police arrived and based on the lack of blood or chaos elsewhere in the house it is generally assumed she was killed and died where her body was found. Further, the phone from which the call to the police had been made was located in the kitchen. 

It is worth noting that there were no traces of blood tracked around the house nor were there any on the doorknobs. When police arrived on the scene, Mr. Jensen had enough of his wife's blood saturated into his socks and on his hands that it would have been impossible for him to have moved around the house without leaving evidence of having done so. That being said, a murder weapon was never recovered from the site. 

Officially, and according to her death certificate, the cause of Mrs. Jensen's death was exsanguination. It was generally assumed that the murder weapon was a sharp bladed object, presumably a knife. Notably, while there were clear signs of a struggle based on the state of the living room, aside from the lacerations that ended her life, Mrs. Jensen was otherwise uninjured. Additionally, Mr. Jensen bore no signs of having been in any sort of physical altercation.

The security system surrounding the property was disconnected some years ago shortly after the Jensens moved in and after only a month of having it set up. Reportedly, the issue was the system was constantly being tripped and after one too many visits from the police, they decided the system was more of a hassle than it was worth. According to everyone involved, it was generally assumed a wild animal was somehow setting the system off. Shortly after Mrs. Jensen's death, however, the system was re-installed and reactivated on the off-chance that the killer returned to claim a second victim.

The landline to the Jensen household had been disconnected shortly after the couple moved in almost a decade ago. Incidentally, Mrs. Jensen had a retro rotary phone that she had set up in the kitchen and while it was plugged in and fully functional, there was no way for it to call out. This would be an unremarkable detail if not for the fact that the call that alerted the authorities to something amiss had been made from the number previously associated with the landline. Further, several decades prior, during the first round of murder that took place in the house, a similar call was made, though it was less strange in that the landline had been connected at the time. 

**The Timeline**

The victim's husband was noted to have been seen in the hallways of Sable High School at 2:00 PM leaving during the after school rush. One student recalled stopping to ask Mr. Jensen a few questions about an upcoming assignment at roughly 2:06 PM as he had been making his way to the staff parking lot. The drive from the high school to the Jensen household is _approximately_ ten to fifteen minutes, depending on the weather and it had been raining heavily that day. One resident, who had been walking along the strip of buildings that could be considered something of a downtown area, had recalled passing Mr. Jensen's car at a stoplight at roughly 2:16 PM. By Mr. Jensen's own admission, he had arrived home at 2:26 PM. It is, of course, entirely plausible for the student, the resident, or Mr. Jensen to be incorrect about the approximate times. 

Officially, 911 dispatch received a call from the Jensen household at 2:22 PM. The dispatcher reportedly heard loud static and the sounds of a woman screaming in the distance. Based on this, it is assumed that Mrs. Jensen had still been alive at this time.

Shortly after arriving home, Mr. Jensen's claimed he had paused upon finding a shattered coffee cup just outside of his wife's office, but as she wasn't in her office, he suspected she may have gone to the kitchen to get something to clean up the mess. Allegedly, it had been around 2:30 when Mr. Jensen had glanced at the clock in the kitchen before going elsewhere to locate Mrs. Jensen. 

__

It was at approximately 2:33 that police arrived to find Mr. Jensen knelt beside his wife and trying to stem the flow of blood. Unfortunately, the lacerations were too numerous and severe for him to do anything. 

__

***

__

_"Here,"_

__

In the midst of typing, Jacoby looked up at the single word, then glanced at the knee being patted. The uncertain look gave way to understanding quickly enough and without much complaint, he moved to pull his legs into the ambulance. As his legs were then set across the detective's, he wondered if this was okay, but doubted the detective would have offered if it wasn't. Patiently, Jacoby watched as another blanket was tucked around his legs while waiting for the detective to address his prior question. 

__

_"_ _At least not blind." _

__

Doing nothing more than listening, for the time being, Jacoby was left with the lasting impression that if there had been any danger it may have only been minimal. While he was glad that his life may not have been in danger, he was still unsettled at the notion that he could have been otherwise victimized. Not for the first time, he had to wonder if housing the numerous - and arguably priceless - antiques his wife had accumulated was all that safe even in a small town. Given the scare he had just had, Jacoby was glad that the security system had been reactivated, even if it had happened following a tragedy. 

__

_"Not better ones, maybe, but at least more."_

__

Wearily, Jacoby's eyes slipped shut, though he was still listening and not remotely happy about the answer he had been given. He was honestly regretting not packing up and leaving Sable as soon as possible, but he could only guess how that might have looked to the authorities and townspeople alike. So, against his better judgment and in part because of the pandemic, Jacoby had stayed. He supposed he was lucky in that he wasn't under house arrest, though at times he felt as if he may as well have been. 

__

_"But also in case you were somehow involved."_

__

Eyes slipping back open, Jacoby could only nod slightly in response. He had seen the texts and he was aware of what angles had been investigated so far by the police. As much as he didn't like this either, he could accept the detective's reasoning for his actions from the moment they met up until depositing him in the back of an ambulance. Accepting it for what it was, Jacoby offered only a weak, ghost of a smile. He didn't bother texting a response. 

__

_"That, and I was operating under the assumption that your professed general lack of sleep would mean you'd hear your phone."_

__

__

Unknown  
  
It would be just my luck  
  
for this to happen the one night I get any sleep.  
  


__

_  
_

_"I don't exactly want to be your second victim, Mr. Jensen."_

__

Glancing up from his phone, Jacoby looked the detective up, then down, or at least as much as he could from their positions and his vantage point. As if making a decision a skeptical, [_doubtful_](https://i.kym-cdn.com/entries/icons/facebook/000/023/021/e02e5ffb5f980cd8262cf7f0ae00a4a9_press-x-to-doubt-memes-memesuper-la-noire-doubt-meme_419-238.jpg) expression settled across his otherwise tired features. With that, his attention returned to his phone to text his response. 

__

__

Unknown  
  
I think you'd be more than the killer bargained for  
  
hypothetically speaking.  
  
To be honest, I was expecting to be the second victim.  
  
But I would prefer there be no more victims if possible.  
  


__

_  
_

* * *

__

Reese frowned. He couldn't exactly fault someone for being holed up at home, even if there hadn't been a pandemic quietly raging out in the wider world. Aside from his morning (and occasionally afternoon) coffees, a lonely office or a lonelier crime scene was a strong preference, albeit less for the noise and more for putting up with the nuisances that could be other people. What he couldn't imagine was being holed up, alone, in the same, secluded house where his wife had been brutally murdered, regardless of the culprit.

__

Though he did suppose, glancing toward the squad car and the faint silhouettes that caught a flash of light in the drizzle, that Mr. Jensen wasn't exactly for want of company.

__

Other than the answers he attempted to give with as much of a balance between clarity and truthfulness as he was able, the detective only hummed thoughtful responses, distant as the retreating thunder. Trust was, he had learned, compartmentalized easily enough. He could trust that the man beside him would do nothing to him now, disadvantaged by company and circumstances, and trust that he couldn't even if he deigned to try. He could trust that, even alone, he was unlikely to find himself with any other Jacoby than this one, who still felt a little to chilled by the night air even beneath the blankets.

__

What he couldn't trust was that Jacoby wasn't, instead, extremely clever. He'd have to have been, if indeed he'd murdered his wife, given what little evidence there was that wasn't circumstantial at best, and nothing at worst. A detective on the case ending up dead within days hardly seemed clever. It happening during the commission of a possible robbery in which the homeowner was, of course, not involved, on the other hand... Reese did, to some extent, regret the manhandling and having had to assume Jacoby had gotten his texts when he hadn't, but nevertheless didn't see himself changing his tactics had he the chance to do it all over again.

__

His frown returned as he leaned over to check the phone screen once more, his hands too otherwise occupied by their idle motions atop lean legs as he tried to inoculate some of the blanket's warmth someplace more beneficial. "Then I guess we have that in common," he decided, the only smile he could offer then both slight and grim. Whether it was him, Jacoby, or anyone else, Reese's primary interest was, after all, in ensuring no further victims. Of course, secondary to that remained seeing the perpetrator behind bars.

__

Opening his mouth to speak again, he was cut off by the sound approaching footsteps and the swivel of his own head toward the intrusion as one of the medics trotted over. As they had talked-- _more or less_ \--the officers on the scene had done a quick sweep and process of the house. He could suspect why, after flicking a puzzled look between the two of them, he looked so concerned as he neared, the med kit slung over his shoulder poised for action as his hands hovered over it. Reese might have cringed if it wouldn't have hurt. "I'm--"

__

" _Head,_ " he'd insisted hastily, and when her series of emphatic but otherwise cryptic hand gestures were not immediately heeded, she simply pushed in his head forward herself, offering Jacoby what might have been a fleetingly apologetic smile beneath his mask. The detective might have huffed, the quiet sound obscured by the patter of rain and the fall of his dark hair, now much longer than he was used to, over his face as he was pushed just a bit closer to Jacoby's.

__

Without the comparison of the detective's imposing frame, the other male might have been considered tall. His hair was similarly dark, though the similarities ended there, the sheen it took picking up no hints of browns or redder mahoganies in the glow of headlights. (The flashing lights had, by then, been cut in favor of some more stable though they hardly cut through the black of the night, the house and surrounding area apparently clear of any additional intruders.) Though most of his pale face was obscured by his mask, despite Reese's grumbling, he seemed singularly focused.

__

" _\--Fine_ ," he had meant to attempt, but in the end it came out as more of a spiteful concession as he sighed just after. Latex gloved fingers prodded at the back of his head, until he winced and the EMT tsked knowingly, his dark hair at the back of his head damp from more than just the rain. Lifting his head just slightly, Reese apparently decided he could let this happen and keep working, though his voice dropped in volume as the first word came out, accommodating how much closer together they were now with him leaning forward.

__

"You can type something up about what happened. Tomorrow, if you want." Though it might have been fresher _now_ , it was nevertheless the dead of night, and he was fairly certain that between the two of them he'd been more coherent anyway. "It's just a formality," he continued as the EMT muttered unhappily under his breath as he continued to work, pushing Reese's head down once more. He kept on regardless, only wincing slightly at the sharply cool rush of disinfectant upon the cut. "And for if you decide you want to press charges, though that may be out of your hands."

__

" _No stitches_ ," he had said rather suddenly as the medic's busy hands had retreated to his bag once more. He sat up, swatting away the much thinner arms that attempted to placate him, before he was offered a rather sharp squint and the other male stomped wetly off once more. The vehicle would jostle ever so slightly a moment later, followed by the sound of a car door falling shut and Reese would only sigh, shaking his head as his gaze followed after.

__

Nobody _else_ at _his_ crime scenes was quite so insubordinate.

__

With his attention shifted back to Jacoby, his hand similarly drifted once more to the back of his head--though realistically, and likely given the height disparities between him and his assailant, he'd been struck somewhere just shy of being more reasonably his neck. Apparently affected by the encounter, his tone was at least a little more gentle, the still weak smile he offered the blond next apologetic, but at least a modicum less guarded, though it might just have been the faint twinge of helpless humor that quirked its edges. "Sorry about the vase, by the way. French or not, I've yet to meet porcelain harder than my head."

__

* * *

__

_"Then I guess we have that in common,"_

__

Jacoby offered a tight smile that spoke volumes of how weary he was of all of this. What most of the public had gotten a glimpse of was a sensationalized tragedy, but at the end of the day they could turn off the news, close out of an article, or put down the paper and go about their normal lives unaffected. For a smaller number of people, they had the misfortune of having intimate knowledge of a horrific crime, but again they had a life outside of work to return to at the end of the day. For Jacoby, his entire life had become an endless nightmare he couldn't wake up from. 

__

There had been times, early on and after he'd returned home from being hospitalized, that he'd half expected to wake up and find that this was a nightmare. According to his therapist, he had been working through the denial stage of grief, coming to terms with the fact that his wife really was gone despite some part of him trying to disbelieve it. Mornings had been difficult for the first month, each time he woke up he almost expected to find the space beside him occupied by a warm, living body, only to find the space cold and empty. To make matters worse, even as he went about his day he was plagued by the lingering feeling that at any moment his wife would appear and the whole thing would be revealed to be some elaborate, tasteless prank. 

__

If he was certain of anything, Jacoby was certain that catching whoever was responsible would allow him some sense of closure and an end to the nightmare. 

__

_"I'm--" ..._ _"_ Head, _" ..._ _"-_ -Fine, _"_

__

Preoccupied with his thoughts and listening to what the detective had to say, Jacoby had nearly forgotten that they weren't entirely alone, despite the insular feeling in the back of the ambulance. As a medic approached, he glanced over briefly before quickly arriving at the conclusion that the target was the detective and not himself. Glad as he was that he wasn't the one being subjected to additional poking and prodding, he couldn't help but allow his smile to turn sympathetic as the detective's face was pushed closer to his own. 

__

_"Tomorrow, if you want."_

__

Jacoby just nodded, suspecting that a statement or something would be expected from him about what had transpired. Right now he wasn't feeling too up to the challenge of writing out the events of the last half an hour, but he also had a strong feeling that he wasn't about to fall back asleep anytime soon. While the trembling had lessened and the pace of his heart was normal, he still felt on high alert and anxious. It was unlikely he'd have an easy time returning to sleep, but he doubted he was going to be particularly useful in his present state. 

__

__

Unknown  
  
It's a good thing it's the start of the weekend.  
  


__

_  
_

_"And for if you decide you want to press charges, though that may be out of your hands."_

__

It was the second time that the detective's head was pushed down that it fully dawned on Jacoby just how close they were and how warm the detective's breath felt compared to the cool air around them. Shrinking back just a little, he tried to give them some space even as heat rose in his cheeks. He gave a quick nod as his attention returned to his phone, accepting that while he could press charges, it might not be necessary for him to bother. Not remotely a [lawyer](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/718633495706075147/720682993932566648/proxy.png), and most definitely not [a](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/718633495706075147/720682969198755880/index.png) [law](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/718633495706075147/754575840854933606/257476_xu7Up4r5.png)[man](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/718633495706075147/720682924562972712/index.png), he didn't exactly understand what was going to happen now from a legal standpoint. If he were to hazard a guess, he would think that breaking and entering, followed by assaulting an officer, was more than enough for the three to face criminal charges of what degree he couldn't be sure. 

__

"No stitches,"

__

Pale eyebrows rose at the mention of stitches and it only occurred to Jacoby then that the detective may not have walked away from the earlier scuffle unscathed as he'd previously thought. Biting his lip, Jacoby once more liked as if he wished he could say something, but for obvious reasons couldn't. Still a bit warm in the face from their close proximity, Jacoby almost wished they could go back inside for no other reason than for him to have space and perhaps some peace once everyone had left for the evening. 

__

_"French or not, I've yet to meet porcelain harder than my head."_

__

Looking first from the detective, then off to the house, Jacoby thought of the shattered vase and whether the insurance on it would make up for the loss. He supposed if he really wanted, he could sue for damages, though he was unsure if doing so was more out of spite than anything else. Given everything he had been through so far, Jacoby didn't feel as if being a little spiteful was unwarranted. Monetary value aside, he was perfectly willing to give people additional reasons to leave him alone. 

__

__

Unknown  
  
You're lucky they didn't get a hold of one of the paperweights.  
  
I'm considering suing them for the damages, but  
  
I think I'd only get the value of the insurance deductible out of it.  
  


__

_  
_

Sighing gently, Jacoby suddenly felt tired, not terribly enthused about all the phone calls, emails, and paperwork that might come out of this. Shifting around a little, he moved as if he wanted to get up, though he was well aware of the detective's more sizeable frame hovering over him. 

__

* * *

__

Despite the enforced closeness, Reese found it no easier to read Jacoby's thoughts, and still tilted his head, much to the medic's rather physical chagrin, to glance at his phone screen. He frowned a little, though not enough to change much of his usual expression save around his eyes, which remained perilously shrouded by a combination of his hair and the night. There hadn't, so far as he was concerned, been much of a the concept of a _weekend_ in his life for a long while given his workaholic tendencies. The larger waves the virus made, the more it rippled throughout society and the corresponding norms, the more that concept had seemed to erode even further.

__

In the end, he wasn't sure whether to pity or envy a man whose life and schedule still revolved around a seven-day cycle, and offered only a tight smile to console one or both of them. He still wasn't sure.

__

While he was well aware of the invasion of personal space, he was unbothered by it, and unbothered by the possibility that Jacoby just might be. Instead, he took it as a moment to observe, the direct line of his gaze shrouded by the dark, though the blond's seemed to catch whatever light their was. There was a slight pinch at the back of his neck, at which he inhaled sharply but offered no real attempt at resistance, aware the EMT might not have taken too kindly to his obvious proximity to the homeowner. Why, exactly, he couldn't say, though he guessed the reasons to be multitudinous.

__

Another EMT passed by, headed first for the back of the truck, before offering an awkward wave as she took note of the fact that it was still occupied, and veering off in another direction, the mess of curls pulled back into a loose mass behind her head gleaming like fire even in the dim lighting. He nodded to her in subtle acknowledgement, but waited for her to round the truck once more before turning his attention back.

__

Alone and relieved of the pressure—in more ways than one—of either medic's company, but not also the slight sting of disinfectant on his neck, he sat back with a faint grin. "I'm not looking to test the theory," he said with a suspicious arch of the brow that _might_ have been in jest, "But I'm pretty sure I can out-skull a paperweight, too." But he squinted, his hand retreating to the back of his neck for just a moment as he contemplated the possibility. "Maybe _with_ stitches."

__

"I guess it would be less expensive," he mused, peering off into the distance for a moment. Reese found himself unable to contemplate the possible outcomes of such insurance claims tied up in probable criminal proceedings, and all the paperwork that would follow. While he might have preferred to offer something reassuring, the state of things left the only honest answers nebulous. "I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you; courts are closed, and everything seems to be happening with increasing slowness." Turning his head back, he eyed Jacoby for a moment, his expression its usual, cryptic, not-quite-smile-not-quite-frown.

__

"Like murder investigations."

__

Whether he meant that to be threatening or reassuring depended, he supposed, on Mr. Jensen's culpability. But he seemed to move on from the issue rather swiftly, patting the blanket atop what was probably a thigh. "But let's not kill you with pneumonia before we can figure that out, shall we?" Less of a question and more of a decision, the detective was swift to act from then, the return of his face mask the first order of business. When he rose, his silent companion rose with him, and only in part because he didn't suspect he'd get verbal consent, he didn't bother asking—not that he would have taken no for an answer.

__

Some swift maneuvering had both Jacoby and the blankets in his arms, with one of the latter draped over the former's head as a precaution against the drizzle that still misted down from the darkness above, and the other left to ward against the cold. His footfalls splished lightly on the saturated ground, and he stopped only once the sound of voices muffled by the mask and blanket alike. He shifted his carriage only slightly, the steps of the porch creaking quietly under their combined weight. It wasn't until they were inside and past the damp floor that he finally set his ward down upon his feet, tugging the blanket to drape more usefully about his shoulders.

__

"I'm not all that keen to leave you on your own, presently," he admitted, backlit by the light from the vehicles outside, the house still dark from the loss of power. A moment later, the both of them were illuminated by the soft glow of a small hand lantern he had snagged from one of the other officers as they wrapped up their sweep. "A squad car is going to stay outside tonight just in case, and so far as we can tell the danger's passed." As he spoke, his hand lifted, brushing back some strands of pale blond the blanket had set awry. " _But_..." The hesitation weighed heavily upon his tongue, and he took a step closer, cocking his head as though inquisitively.

__

"I can stay. If you'd like."

__

* * *

__

As poorly as the night had gone, and with his sleep cycle once more thrown into disarray, Jacoby was only glad that his students wouldn't see him looking like an obvious train wreck over a video call tomorrow morning. He had no doubt that they'd already gotten a sense that something was off, news of his wife's death aside, Jacoby looked much more pallid and tired than usual. While his students might not have noticed nearly as much as his therapist, he did want to keep up appearances, lest he gave their parents more to gossip about once class was over. 

__

_"Maybe_ with _stitches."_

__

Jacoby grimaced at the mental image of someone taking one of his paperweights to the head. While he doubted it would be instant death, he had a feeling some of them could knock someone out at the very least. For reasons he thought obvious, namely not wanting another death in the house he lived in, Jacoby decided it was best neither of them attempted to test just what the detective's skull could withstand. The mention of stitches yet again made Jacoby curious as to why the detective had insisted on no stitches in the first place, though it wasn't a matter he was willing to probe right now. 

__

_"Like murder investigations."_

__

Raised brows and a tight-lipped smile were Jacoby's only response to that. He was well aware that the ongoing investigation into his wife's murder was moving at a glacial pace and he suspected it wasn't an isolated problem. Some part of him did wonder if this whole mess might have been wrapped up sooner, rather than much, _much_ later, if there wasn't an ongoing national health crisis. Of course, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd still have a job, or even his freedom, if not for the pandemic. 

__

Jacoby had been left with the impression that he continued to be employed because of the circumstances created by the pandemic. For one, classes were now virtual and he suspected parents were less likely to be outraged about an alleged murderer teaching their children if there was no contact between them. Then there was the simple fact that Sable High School didn't exactly have a line of qualified individuals willing to teach in the middle of nowhere in the first place and travel was being restricted right now. 

__

Part of the reason Jacoby still lived where he lived, finances aside, was because of all the logistics that would come with actually moving or downsizing. He already had a sense that getting any recompense for a single broken vase would take an unfortunate amount of time, so the thought of going through it all just to begin the process of moving sounded like a giant headache. Perhaps when a vaccine became available he might go about trying to figure out what he wanted to do with his late wife's substantial collection. From there, if he could afford it, he might look into selling the house and leaving Sable behind entirely, though that hinged on what happened with the case between now and then. 

__

_"But let's not kill you with pneumonia before we can figure that out, shall we?"_

__

Before Jacoby could type out that he doubted pneumonia was what he should be worried about, the detective put his mask back on and moved to stand, lifting Jacoby with him as he did. While Jacoby didn't think being carried around like a princess was the most dignified thing he could be subjected to, he didn't think he'd want to walk across the distance between the ambulance and his front door barefooted. Considering how easily the detective had managed to maneuver him around, Jacoby wasn't the least bit worried about being dropped as they walked into the relative warmth and comfort of his otherwise dark house. 

__

_"I'm not all that keen to leave you on your own, presently,"_

__

Once inside, Jacoby couldn't help but be grateful for the presence of the trauma blanket as it was draped over his shoulders. In the quiet darkness, he was less worried than before about the detective noticing the color in his cheeks. When the space around them was partially illuminated by a small hand lantern, Jacoby moved to rest one of his chilled hands across one of his much warmer cheeks. In his other hand, he still held his phone but hadn't typed anything since they'd left the ambulance. 

__

_"A squad car is going to stay outside tonight just in case, and so far as we can tell the danger's passed."_

__

Not wanting the detective to notice that he was, _maybe_ just a _little bit_ flustered, Jacoby's gaze had fallen and settled off to the side as he sought out the broken vase. He listened impassively as the detective informed him that a squad car was going to stay outside, glad that if someone tried to break in again he wasn't going to have to deal with it alone. The feeling of a hand brushing hair from his face startled him and he jumped, only for his face to grow warmer, though this time in embarrassment. 

__

_"I can stay. If you'd like."_

__

Jacoby took a reflexive step back as his gaze moved to level with the detective's, he offered an apologetic smile, then gave a slight shrug before starting to compose a new message. It would only take a few quiet moments, the silence interrupted by the tap of his thumbs against the phone screen before he held it up for the detective to read. 

__

__

Unknown  
  
I don't want to be alone right now.  
  
I'd like it if you stayed.  
  
I can't say I'll make the best company, presently.  
  


__

_  
_

Once he was done typing, he seemed to be trying to gauge what the detective might be thinking. After another moment, he took a step to the side, then gestured for the detective to follow him. It appeared he was trying to walk to the kitchen, but was aware that moving too suddenly might alarm a detective who seemed unsure of his innocence. As he moved, Jacoby tapped on the screen of his phone, illuminating the area in front of him with his phone's flashlight. Making his way to the kitchen, he made a conscious effort to evade the shards of his wife's shattered vase on the ground. 

__

As soon as he arrived in the kitchen, he made his way over to a nearby drawer and pulled it open. Searching around, he produced a number of candles and an equal number of glass candle holders. Setting those on the counter, he also dug out a lighter from the depths of the drawer just in case the detective didn't already have one. With the lighting matter sorted out, Jacoby turned to approach the sink, pausing only to grab the tea kettle off of the stove before going ahead with filling it up. Once that was done, he moved to set it onto the stove and turn on one of the burners to heat up the water. 

__

Glancing back at the detective, he paused, making an effort to telegraph his movements to avoid doing anything that might be read as suspicious. If he was the murderous criminal mastermind he was being painted as then he doubted trying to kill a much better-equipped detective with a patrol car outside was the best plan. Only after he was certain that he wasn't spooking the detective, he moved to locate the broom and dustpan kept within the pantry. Pausing, Jacoby realized he should probably get pictures of the broken vase for insurance reasons before cleaning it up, though he hoped the police had already documented everything they needed. Deciding he should at least inform the detective of his intentions, he set the broom and dustpan down to work on another text before showing that one to the detective as well. 

__

__

Unknown  
  
Do you mind if I clean up?  
  


__

_  
_

* * *

__

If he had gotten any odd looks from the remaining officers wrapping up their survey of the scene as he'd carried its potential victim back inside, it hadn't halted his stride in the least. It had been _nicer_ , he noted, to ferry the blond around when they were on the same page and neither would could be mistaken for a potential assailant, and he had wondered idly whether he wouldn't attempt to coax the other into similar activities as a means to make up his pandemic-closed-gyms-induced gains. Not, he noticed, that Jacoby weighed enough to make a significant dent in his current regimen.

__

If he should have noticed the blond's hasty retreat from his immediate vicinity, Reese either missed the cues in the dark, or was entirely unconcerned, neglecting to vacate Jacoby's personal bubble, or be swift with pulling his hand away. Even when the other male stepped away, Reese found himself leaning forward to close the distance once more, though his attention, at least, seemed focused on the phone screen. With his mask still on his face, his expression was hard to read.  
Eventually, he shrugged, seemingly unphased by the admission as he rocked back on his heels. "It's you or a motel room. At least you— _your house—_ smells better." The motel, of course, wasn't awful; quaint, even, like everything else that seemed to dwell just off the more traveled mountain roads. The smell was less one of refuse and dirt, which the man would not have tolerated besides, and one of disuse. If their business had been poor before travel restrictions had been put into place, now it seemed abysmal. That his room likely hadn't seen a guest in more than a month had, he supposed, been a plus, if a stagnant one.

__

That, and he might not have been entirely unmoved by the other's plight.

__

Reese only nodded as Jacoby gestured for him to follow, and moved to do so, a long arm keeping the lantern aloft alongside the light of the phone to illuminate the way together. With a small fleet of officers just outside (not to mention the disparities in their builds), the brunette hardly felt concerned for his wellbeing as drawers were perused, almost slipping his free hand casually into his pocket before he realized what was happening, and that he could help. The lantern set atop a counter provided just as much light, after all, and left both of his hands free.

__

Deciding to split the difference between his own lighter and the one Jacoby had pulled out, Reese made expert work of lighting the small but impressively odd array of candles (though he supposed when you lived out somewhere like this, it made enough sense), the flickering lights setting a warm glow that nevertheless seemed not to reach beyond its softly illuminated bubble to the darker recesses of the room. In the meantime, the quiet clatter of household goods was enough to draw his attention. He lifted his gaze.

__

The text struck him as immediately curious—this was, after all, Jacoby's own home—before he settled on a number of observations, and a single decision. Stepping forward, he once more closed the distance between them, not quite pining the slighter male against the edge of the cabinet; some space remained between them, but his comparative size hardly allowed swift escape. He leaned closer, abandoning some of the inches he had on the other in favor of meeting somewhere closer to eye level. " _Yes_ ," he said as he reached toward the other's side; he _did_ mind, and he plucked up the broom and dustpan himself.

__

"You stay here," he instructed instead, his tone a warning for both of their safety as he finally stepped back. He couldn't imagine cleaning up sharp objects on the floor barefoot and in the dark would be a particularly good idea. And besides, "It's evidence," he offered in the event that the blond would think to politely protest in his own home. But he did not step away right away, instead glancing toward the kettle and letting his own thoughts steep for just a moment. "I will take a cup, though." Partially to stave off the cold that had soaked just a bit into his clothes, but mostly to quite literally test the waters.

__

Broom, dust pan, and lantern in hand, he stepped back out, making it only just past the door frame before flagging down a rather aimless looking officer who had wandered in, perhaps for him. Before he could be asked any silly questions, Reese offered instructions instead, quite literally positioning the nervous younger man in the door frame he had just vacated, cleaning duty still, if surprisingly, his own. The other male fidgeted nervously in the dark, though whether in was because of that dark, or because of his superior and the quiet conversation that ensued, the back of his head gave no answers.

__

The muffled sounds of voices could be heard, Reese's low and difficult to mistake for his much younger junior's, the masks they wore and the quiet drone of rain in the background keeping the words from carrying particularly far. Eventually, he scurried off with only a couple backward glances in Jacoby's direction, his silhouette quickly replaced by one much larger and significantly taller. Though he returned with the dust pan in tow, it was empty, suggesting that the pieces were collected elsewhere for now, possibly in the custody of a uniformed rookie. Reese tugged at his mask at last, the sound of the front door being pulled shut emanating from behind him.

__

"There's a line out up the road," he explained unprompted as he moved to the counter beside his incidental host, long legs crossing at the ankles as he leaned against its edge, his arms folding casually across his chest. So no power for now, he was sure he would not need to elaborate. " _But_." Though it remained as deep, his tone seemed to lighten just a little, and he may have offered something like a smile in the flickering candlelight. "It's not as though you need to make any emergency calls any time soon, right?" He was, after all, already there, with no intention of leaving the other well and truly alone for the remainder of time he was there.

__

* * *

__

_"At least you—_ your house _—smells better."_

__

In the dim light of the lantern, Jacoby managed to look satisfied with the detective's answer. It had been a while since he'd personally seen the inside of a motel room, but he hoped that his house smelled better than one. Glad as he was that the house, in spite of being the scene of more than one crime, was deemed more suitable than a motel room, that wasn't the only reason he seemed satisfied with the detective's response. What may have been nothing more than a slip of the tongue hadn't entirely escaped his notice, but even that wasn't what left him feeling better about all that had transpired thus far. With the knowledge that he wouldn't be alone for the rest of the night, Jacoby felt lighter - _calmer -_ as they moved into the kitchen, even if his goal was to clean up a priceless vase that was now broken beyond repair. 

__

***

__

"Yes,"

__

Hardly afraid of the detective, now that he knew he wasn't in any danger, Jacoby couldn't help but shrink away as the man's imposing frame leaned in closer to him. Not afraid, but perhaps still flustered and skittish, he pressed himself further against the counter he was leaned against to try to leave a reasonable amount of space between them. When the detective did nothing beyond reply to his question and reach for the broom and dustpan, a confused, anxious frown settled upon pallid features. He was nearly ready to politely _insist_ that he could clean up the mess in his foyer, but because of reasons already apparent to the detective, Jacoby was unable to voice his protest to anyone else handling the mess. 

__

_"It's evidence,"_

__

A frown played upon Jacoby's lips as the detective first told him to stay and then reminded him that the vase, and the mess left behind, was evidence. With his phone still in hand, though now darkened from inactivity, the blond crossed his arms over his chest. Aloof and defiant as the posture might have been, it wasn't lost on Jacoby that he may as well have been doing nothing more than hugging himself and that very well could have been how it looked. The expression he wore, still with a faint, weary frown, persisted even as the detective withdrew from his personal bubble. He wasn't thrilled about being told what to do but accepted it as necessary for evidence collection.

__

_"I will take a cup, though."_

__

The frown that had taken up residence on Jacoby's face abated at the request, certain that if he couldn't be left to clean up, he could manage to make tea without either stepping on glass or inadvertently disturbing evidence. The house, old as it was, didn't tend to be draftier than any other house Jacoby had ever encountered. Still, he would admit to having experienced cold spots here and there, but nothing alarming or worth paying much mind to compared to the other renovations that had been ongoing over the years. Presently, however, with the door having been forced open, the lower level of the house felt much cooler than usual. In the years he had resided in Sable, he had grown accustomed to the damp, frigid air that often accompanied storms that would roll in off the coast and through the mountain pass into the valley. By now Jacoby was used to the storms and the cold and while he could endure it, he wasn't fond of getting sick. 

__

As soon as the detective walked out of the kitchen, Jacoby was left to his own thoughts and for a moment he remained where the detective had left him. Not one to enjoy getting sick, he expected the same could be said of the detective or really any reasonable person. So, with that in mind, his thoughts wandered to acting as an impromptu host, making tea, figuring out where or if the detective wanted to sleep, and if he had anything for the taller, broader man to change into if he didn't have a change of clothing on hand. Given the abrupt nature of the break-in, he had his doubts that the detective would have had time to pack an overnight bag from the motel. 

__

By the light of the various candles that had been lit by the detective, Jacoby went about making tea in relative silence. The pitter-patter of rain persisted, as did the sound of the water in the kettle as it was heated. The faint sound of teacups and such was soft and blended easily into the overall ambiance of an allegedly haunted house during a storm. Aside from rumors that had circulated around the house long before Jacoby had even been alive, the house had a quiet, if not melancholic, atmosphere. If not for the distant murmur of voices, Jacoby could almost pretend he was alone and undisturbed still. 

__

Miserably, as he went about actually making the tea, Jacoby realized he often felt like a ghost in his own home. Perhaps a part of him died with his wife and whatever remained after had been left behind in a hospital. Distracted as he was, he paid no mind to the exchange taking place out in the foyer. By now he suspected that if there was anything he needed to know or be informed of, the detective would pass that information on as needed. 

__

_"There's a line out up the road,"_

__

Upon the detective's return, Jacoby first glanced over his shoulder, eyes settling on the empty dustpan and arriving at the most obvious conclusions of where his vase had ended up. As the detective spoke, Jacoby turned more fully before resting back against the counter he had been standing in front of while making tea. He still looked tired, physically, mentally, _emotionally_ , but there was little that could be done about that in such a short amount of time. For now, he was standing, relatively unharmed, and the faint smile tugging at the edges of his mouth wasn't so forced as it had been over the last few months. With the detective settled beside him, he once again felt lighter, one might even go as far as to say _better_ than he had in a long while. 

__

_"It's not as though you need to make any emergency calls any time soon, right?"_

__

Jacoby smiled a little brighter, then shook his head at the rhetorical question, the motion sending stray strands of messy hair tossing about as he did. The power being out was inconvenient, but thankfully it was already night time, so he had no reason to believe there would be any major disruptions caused by the outage. If he wasn't already wide awake, Jacoby might have opted to go upstairs and sleep through it all and hope things were better in the morning. He didn't expect all of his woes to dissipate with the rising of the sun, but he was hopeful that he'd have his voice back once he'd managed to relax and get some rest. 

__

__

Unknown  
  
Do you plan on sleeping at all?  
  
There are guest rooms available.  
  
I'm not sure if I have a change of clothes that might fit you.  
  


__

_  
_

Typing out his question and elaborating on what accommodations the house had, Jacoby pondered how suspicious the detective may or may not be of him. With his messages written out, he held the phone up for the detective to have a better view of the screen, and then gave him time to respond. He doubted, if their roles were swapped, that he'd get much sleep while in the home of an alleged murderer regardless of whether there was backup right outside. 

__

__

Unknown  
  
I understand if you would rather not.  
  
You did mention there would be a squad car outside.  
  


__

_  
_

Jacoby didn't bother to inform the detective of what may or may not have already crossed his mind as well. If he _was_ behind his wife's murder, and if he'd planned on having additional victims, attempting to kill someone when he was most likely to be caught wasn't the best plan. What Jacoby did do was momentarily consider what he'd do if he _was_ a homicidal maniac. For one, he suspected he'd wait, at least until he'd gained the detective's trust, or until an opportunity presented itself to make a murder look like an accident. 

__

Before he could get too wrapped up in dark, morbid thoughts, Jacoby remembered that there was tea cooling. Tapping at his phone again, he produced two additional lines of text to show the detective, while nodding to the tray bearing two cups behind them on the counter. Unsure of how the detective liked his tea, if he'd had any preferences, or if he liked it plain, Jacoby had opted to make it how he usually did in the mornings. It was only with common sense that he decided against making any jokes alluding to poison as he held his phone up so the detective wouldn't have to stoop over too much to see. 

__

__

Unknown  
  
I wasn't sure how you liked your tea.  
  
But it is caffeinated.  
  


__

_  
_

* * *

__

Even in the warm but dim lighting of flickering candles and the solitary lantern, he saw no reason to be anything other than as keenly observant as he ever was. The house he took in by increments, silently mapping what spaces he had tread already, and estimating what else lie beyond for further examination. It felt cold, in ways he did not think could be entirely attributed to the chill of the stormy, midnight weather outside, but also in ways he saw no reason to ponder overlong. It was a house without people in it, and far too much to suffer alone.

__

And then there was its single occupant, who seemed somehow to look slighter and paler each time Reese's gaze fell upon him once again--and so he did not let it wander elsewhere for long. It was a different kind of loneliness, to haunt so much emptiness, compared to the cramp confines of his own design, and intermittent access to a bevy of overly interested and overly helpful contacts who _didn't_ think he was a murderer, even if they should. His solitude had, as most people's should under the current circumstances, been self-imposed.

__

Jacoby's only was if he was, in fact, the murderer.

__

The detective was not unaware of his often imposing nature (and there were times when he caught it happening even when it was _not_ his intent), though he had to wonder just how much of the upset and fatigue that played upon the finer lines of such a pale face had been caused by this night, _that_ night, or the nights in between. He was reminded of some mandated and particularly unexpected training he had undergone what felt like a lifetime ago now, and pondered whether he had ever confidently strode into a situation more applicable. Despite the small smiles, Jacoby certainly looked in need.

__

"I don't need a guest room," he offered with a shrug, seeing no reason to back off from his lean in the blond's direction, even as the fall of his shoulder eventually settled against another. "And I don't need a change of clothes." Though he didn't, the fold of his arms shifted slightly as he lifted a hand to brush the back of his knuckles across a somewhat rye smile, unable to stop himself for imagining just how poorly he would fit into the clothes of most other men, let alone one who seemed liable to break in a quick breeze by comparison. Still amused by the thought, he nevertheless turned his head and attention toward the man beside him.

__

"I know you're not sleeping in a twin bed." That had been observed easily enough even in the short, dark span he had spent in Jacoby's room thus far. "And it's not exactly like anyone could hear you scream. My name or otherwise," was his final conclusion, punctuated by another soft brush of pale hair from a face too much paler. Squad car or no, he somehow doubted the likelihood of a second set of intruders that evening, though he would suffer no less diligence for it. And despite the had he tried at being _mostly_ gentle, it didn't hurt of offer reminders of his authority.

__

The chuckle that followed was a dark one, deep but quiet, in a manner that settled nicely on his already fine features. "Caffeinated happens to be _exactly_ how I like my tea," the brunette reassured with a shake of his head, though he had yet to pull his hand away entirely. But his smile faltered a moment later as he sought the other's gaze once more, to something a bit more cryptic, the cock to his head not exactly _questioning,_ but more like _curious_. The next question he asked was only half of abrupt as his seeming disinterest in waiting for an answer.

__

"It shouldn't be me," he breathed as he pushed off of the counter, but made to move to step away. "But... would you mind if I tried something?" Suspecting he wouldn't get a 'no', at least of the verbal sort, Reese acted on the whim that had grown from an inkling to an urge since he had stepped back into the kitchen, and closed the distance between them entirely.

__

His breath was warm, his scent of smoke and gunpowder and some clearly expensive aftershave or cologne, and the length of his strong arms fit firmly and securely around a form so thin as he drew Jacoby into his chest. One settled around his waist as he pulled that flush against him too, while the other fell across Jacoby's back, warm fingers settling at the nape of his neck, offering the faintest of coaxing motions to get the other to relax. He opened his mouth to say something, his breath coming quick and audible as he decided against it, and opted, in the end, to say something else instead.

__

"You don't exactly have a lot of appropriately quarantined options, so..." His voice was low and quiet, and all the more reverberant for it, and for as much confidence that seemed to lace his words and actions and essence, he didn't continue his explanation of _why_. Reese just supposed as the rain continued to fall and everything but the trees remained cold and still around them, that maybe Jacoby had needed this. Maybe he had needed something, in any case, for a while. Maybe they both had, and he held on just a little bit tighter, the inward turn of his head brushing soft breath against softer hair.

__

* * *

__

_"And I don't need a change of clothes."_

__

Jacoby seemed unsurprised at the responses to his inquiries about whatever accommodations he could provide the taller man situated beside him. He had guessed that sleep might not be at the forefront of the detective's mind, not after what had just transpired, and not while occupying the same space as an alleged murderer. As for the clothes, a small quirk of his lips indicated that it wasn't lost on Jacoby how ridiculous it might look for the detective to even attempt to fit into anything Jacoby owned. Still, he had asked mostly out of courtesy and with the intent of trying to improvise if the detective _had_ requested anything. Glancing around the room, he felt momentarily lost, unsure how to go about playing host with a guest who seemed to need so little from him. In the end, from the detective's demeanor, Jacoby was given the impression that if anything was needed the detective would say something. 

__

_"My name or otherwise,"_

__

A sound that wasn't _not_ a laugh passed Jacoby's lips when the detective brought up the size of his bed. Being a widower, the notion that he was sleeping in a bed designed for children - or bachelors, if he were being generous - was enough to coax something other than silence from him. It shouldn't have been that funny, but the image of a married couple trying to make a twin bed work was nearly as humorous as the thought of the detective trying to fit into Jacoby's clothing. The momentary mirth he felt dissipated rapidly at the next thing that left the detective's mouth. Working in a high school, and therefore surrounded by a constant barrage of attempts at innuendo and general impropriety, it didn't go over his head what the detective might be implying. 

__

The brush of warm fingers that sought to move stray strands of hair from his face left Jacoby unsure of the detective's intentions. Attention shifting back to his phone, he began to type, while also deciding to give the detective the benefit of the doubt. If the intentions had been completely innocent, then there was nothing to worry about, or so that was Jacoby's reasoning. If the detective _had_ less than pure intentions, then Jacoby decided the best he could do was try to steer them away from anything indecent.

__

__

Unknown  
  
I don't think screaming would be necessary.  
  
Sound tends to carry in this house.  
  


__

_  
_

As he typed his response, he glanced up, offering another smile that was just as faint and fleeting as the last. In that moment, as he met the detective's eyes, Jacoby realized that while the initial text named the man before him as 'Detective Richards' it didn't provide him much in the way of a first name. Glancing back at his phone, Jacoby finished another two lines of text before presenting the screen for the detective to read. 

__

__

Unknown  
  
I don't believe I caught your name?  
  
Unless you would prefer to keep this formal?  
  


__

_  
_

_"Caffeinated happens to be_ exactly _how I like my tea,"_

__

Jacoby offered only a nod of acknowledgment, seemingly making a point of ignoring the hand on his face, and made a mental note of the detective's tea preference. Once again, he looked up and met the detective's gaze, though this time he froze, unsure of what to make of the expression on the taller man's face. If he'd had the ability to speak at the moment, Jacoby may have attempted to ask if the detective had something on his mind, but as it was he could do nothing but watch curiously to see what the detective might do or say next. 

__

_"But... would you mind if I tried something?"_

__

A look of alarm crossed Jacoby's face, unsure as he was of what exactly the detective had been aiming for with his earlier observation and commentary. Standing perfectly still, as if frozen in place, he could do nothing but stand like a deer in the headlights as the detective moved further into his personal bubble. At first, Jacoby went rigid in the detective's embrace, though his panic calmed as he was simply pulled flush against a warm chest. Slowly, he started to relax, finding the scent clinging to the detective pleasant and strangely calming. After a few moments, he seemed to melt against the warmth he was pressed flush against. 

__

It had been months since he'd last touched another person. The last time someone had held him like this had been months ago when he had said his goodbyes to his parents, which had also been the last time he had touched another person at all. Before that, there had been the hospital staff, though their handling and demeanor had been entirely clinical and detached. Before that... 

__

Realizing that he had started to tear up, and that said tears were now slipping freely down his face, caused Jacoby to try to push away feebly. He didn't _want_ to pull away, but he also didn't want to break down in tears here and now while being held by a man he had just met less than an hour ago. Even worse, he didn't want to think about holding his wife's cooling corpse in his arms. 

__

_"You don't exactly have a lot of appropriately quarantined options, so..."_

__

Jacoby made a sound that was little more than a pained whine. He couldn't say as much, but he was fairly certain, regardless of the quarantine, he didn't have options _period_. He had been glad to keep his job, though he remained convinced that the events leading to his wife's death, whether he truly was the murderer or not, had alienated him from the rest of the town. As far as he was concerned, no one would have any reason to want anything to do with him, much less hold him like this. 

__

Giving up in his attempt to resist the embrace, Jacoby stilled again as a fresh wave of tears started to fall. Aside from the occasional sniffle, he made no sound, accepting this for what it was, even if it came from someone he barely knew. Distantly, as seconds bled into minutes, he realized that the tea would start to get cold, but made no move to push or pull away from the detective. 

__

* * *

__

"I'm not really worried about sound carrying," he, for all the clarity it provided, clarified. He was more concerned over the absence of it given his impromptu host's condition, and how easy it had been to covertly enter his house, his room, and nearly his bed, and cover his mouth before he could so much as make a peep. It was for that reason, and some deep consideration of possible remedies, that Reese regarded Jacoby's mouth for a long, intent moment, and no other. Whether the blond was a killer or an intended victim, the detective didn't see much sense in leaving him alone.

__

Distracted by this, it took him a moment to recognize the subsequent texts were for him, and a second glance to comprehend the request before he was fully back in the moment. He hadn't bothered to answer save, perhaps, for eschewing anything staunchly formal by leaning down to _hug_ the object of his investigations. It hadn't seemed as important, maybe, or he otherwise hadn't decided what he did and didn't wish to share. Not that he held onto his name covetously, or was in the habit of bad manners, but their situation at present was about as unconventional as his introduction had been, and so...

__

Hugs first.

__

Everything else could wait.

__

Reese was very aware, as he drew his arms firmly around the other, of every reaction he got, having long been attuned to the possibility of hurting the things he dared to touch. And Jacoby did seem particularly delicate, in more senses than he should probably share. The rigidity of his frame as the detective embraced him made it easy to tell just how much leaner the blond was, and he had to wonder whether he had always been so fragile, or whether he had fallen into some sort of not unexpected decline since his wife's passing. Regardless, he was left with the confirmation he needed that if Jacoby intended to do something, it wouldn't exactly be a fair fight.

__

Which meant it would be something else entirely.

__

But then he was also aware of some finer things, more tenuous nuances of the lean frame that felt much too cold against his own, which he sought to capture with the subtle, unalarming movement of his hands. It made it that much easier to hold on when the other male attempted suddenly to try to detach himself in a manner that reminded Reese of a scared and wounded animal that would rather obey an instinct to run and hide than accept the comfort of something it didn't understand, even if it meant death. He couldn't empathize, but he supposed he could sympathize, and he didn't let go.

__

He didn't mean to, and it was far from cold, but Reese laughed, a single, solitary, breath of a chuckle that moved them both for as firmly ensconced as they were in each other's space, the sound an entirely sympathetic one. "...I suppose you _can_ make some sounds," he observed as softly as the depth of his voice allowed, but that was all he bothered to say for a long while, letting his hands do the talking instead. They were just as gentle even for their size, and just as warm as the rest of him even for the persistent chill to the air, as he offered coaxing motions that alone suggested he had more than the time needed to suffer all of this together.

__

Eventually, though, it was too much to worry over, at least without doing _something_ to address his remaining concerns. Carefully, he leaned back, mindful to keep Jacoby in the loop of his arms for a moment as he looked down. What he had meant to say was halted by the sight of tears, and though he had felt them against his chest, it was entirely another conundrum to _see_ them, and the same hand that had already moved to brush hair from the other's pale face more than once now did much the same at the behest of tears. Reese sighed.

__

"Thank you for the tea. For going to the trouble of making it." As he spoke, his gaze somehow remained intently focused on Jacoby, and yet lost in some distant thought, all at once, and the hook of his remaining arm never fully relented. "But..." The words were soft in a way that suited the muffled sounds of rain outside, and the exact chill in the night air that concerned him most. He leaned in, his dark hair, no longer damp but still longer than he was used to, falling across his brow as he displaced some of the remaining distance between them. The path his thumb traced drew perilously close to the same, silent lips he'd only just occupied himself with some minutes before, but followed only the track of hot tears he wished to wipe away despite being the one to draw them forth to begin with.

__

It was a very swift motion, and perhaps a startling one given the briefness of their acquaintance and the strained particularities of it, but he had always been the kind of man who tended to do what he wanted with some authority, and he saw no reason to stop now. His other hand had fallen back lower to make it easier to pull Jacoby that much closer, and he hiked the blond up seamlessly, balancing their sudden closeness upon his hip, and allowing the other only the briefest of moments to reconcile his removal from the kitchen floor before pushing forward.

__

"You'll catch your death," was all the explanation he saw fit to offer, though the softness to his tone suggested a genuineness of concern even as his thighs fell flush against the countertop his host and suspect had only just occupied. Setting the blond upon the counter he had only leaned against before, Reese momentarily offered him the respite of some distance if he wanted it, though he made no move to withdraw from his position between the other male's thighs, or allow any real escape beyond the cage of his arms. "It's late."

__

Adrenaline from a home invasion or no, he couldn't discount the exhaustion of it waning, or that brought on by such clearly needed tears, or that brought on by long suffering circumstances. Soft already, he leaned in just a bit more to be quieter still, the cabinet door clicking lightly beneath the push of his knee as he sought the other's eye level. "Just nod or shake your head," the brunette instructed, an illustrious hand falling upon the wrist of one paler and smaller that held his phone, firm in his insistence that their communication, for the moment, needed no intermediary. "Can I take you to bed?"

__

* * *

__

_"I'm not really worried about sound carrying,"_

__

Jacoby pondered over the detective's words for only a moment, considering any and all implications, before deciding he was far too emotionally drained to be particularly bothered. For now, he was certain that the detective's intentions here were entirely lawful, though whether that was a good thing or not remained to be seen. Jacoby would, of course, insist he was innocent of the crime he had been accused of, but he had a feeling it would take more than that for the detective to actually believe him. Some part of him almost wished his wife's murderer would make a dramatic appearance - even if it meant putting his own life in peril - just so the authorities would have reason to investigate _other_ possible suspects. 

__

Between the hug, and the reminder that there was no one to hear him scream, Jacoby couldn't help but wonder what exactly he would have done if he'd been alone. The reactivation of the security system had been a direct result of his concern about becoming another homicide victim, so it was inevitable that a break-in would prompt the arrival of law enforcement. Still, if someone with ill-intent had gotten inside there was little that Jacoby could have done to defend himself as previously demonstrated. If his wife's murder had slipped in as easily as the detective had, then he was certain that the police would have arrived only to find his corpse and not much else. 

__

As expected, Jacoby said nothing and aside from the occasional sniffle, he continued to not make much noise while pressed against the detective's chest. Taking the moment to mourn, or at least let out everything he'd been holding in for months, he took whatever comfort was offered by the warm embrace. Of all the people he could have found himself pressed against while silently crying, he had to guess that the detective was one of the better options. He smelled nice, for one, but he was also warm and felt so solid against Jacoby's chilled, fragile frame. 

__

_"...I suppose you can make some sounds,"_

__

Slowly, either from the adrenaline crash - or emotional exhaustion as the case may be - the trembling of Jacoby's shoulders and chest became less noticeable as he began to calm down. He felt _better_ , if only a little and if only for the time being, though he still felt out of sorts over crying while being held by a man whose given name he didn't even know. His earlier inquiry of what to call the detective hadn't been forgotten, but right now, what with being unable to speak and everything, it seemed to be a less pressing matter compared to everything else. 

__

When the detective leaned back, Jacoby had half expected them to part completely so they could shrug off a moment of questionable intimacy. Glancing up from under stray strands of blond hair that would soon be brushed out of his face, he met the detective's gaze and felt warmth spread across his cheeks. He had a feeling the detective had been aware that he had been crying, it was hard to miss or ignore, but that didn't make him feel any less embarrassed or flustered over it. If he'd had his full vocal range, he might have taken a second to explain he didn't frequently break down into tears like this.

__

_"For going to the trouble of making it." ... "But..."_

__

Jacoby's breath caught, a soft hiccup his only response as he glanced to where the tea still waited on the trey he had left it on. It was nice being thanked for his efforts at playing impromptu host, but he would have much preferred to drink the aforementioned tea. The detective did feel warm, in comparison, but Jacoby still longed for the warmth offered by the filled teacups beside them. It would have made him feel better, he would have said with some confidence - if only he could speak - to hold one of the teacups. Thinking of the tea, which he had a sinking feeling would be abandoned, he belatedly noticed that the detective was leaning in again. Nothing was said and Jacoby remained still while the detective's thumb caressed his face, a gesture he found much too dangerous to indulge and yet... 

__

Before Jacoby could put much thought into the danger of letting the detective touch him like this, he was suddenly lifted up though no protests fell from his lips. Set upon the counter, he had to wonder if there was a correct way to feel about whatever it was the detective was doing. He couldn't imagine this was standard procedure, but their situation was hardly standard in the first place. Regardless of the intent, Jacoby decided he didn't mind the detective's actions though he had his reservations about getting too used to the attention. 

__

_"You'll catch your death," ... "It's late."_

__

A tired, sad smile graced Jacoby's face in lieu of a verbal response. It was, he decided, for the best he couldn't respond to that. His brief stint being hospitalized hadn't been particularly enjoyable and he didn't want to risk another. For all the pain it brought him to reside here, he did prefer his home and isolation over a sterile room and clinical staff. With his phone still in hand, Jacoby considered whether he wanted to type a response to the detective, though he didn't know where to start. He had questions and concerns, but as the detective said it was late. 

__

_"Just nod or shake your head,"_

__

The tiredness remained, though the sadness waned until it was eclipsed entirely by curiosity as the detective moved in even closer. As their gazes met, Jacoby's looked as if he desperately wanted to say something, though he was quickly informed the detective only wanted a nod or shake of his head. Guessing then that the detective had a question of some sort, and being so used to giving answers longer than a yes or no, he moved to try to text only to feel a larger hand move to rest upon his wrist. Sighing gently, he wanted for the detective to ask whatever it was he wanted to ask.

__

_"Can I take you to bed?"_

__

For a long moment, Jacoby said nothing, but clearly he seemed to be thinking as he considered any and all implications of the detective's words. After a moment, having decided the question was perfectly innocent, he nodded his head. Considering how they met he was confident that the detective knew where his room, and bed, was located. From personal experience, he doubted the detective would have trouble carrying him there. 

__

* * *

__

"Okay," he would say softly, a faint, ponderous tilt to his head as he accepted Jacoby's nod as response, and then accepted the nod much more literally into the palm of his hand. Whatever answer he had suspected, or whether he seemed disappointed or enthused with the one he got, seemed to be of less import than the the cause of the frown that ghosted upon his lips a moment later. The brush of a thumb could not help but catch the faint, warmly wet streaks that gleamed upon pale skin even in the dim and flickering candlelight. He did not, for a moment, back away, or relent either in his clasp upon Jacoby's wrist, the soft motion of his thumb, or the usual stoic fixation of his gaze.

__

But, "Okay," he would say again, in a manner that seemed less observatory than decisive, and with a final squeeze of one hand and brush of the other in what could have been a caress, he stepped back.

__

Only for a moment at first, his swift retrieval of one of the trauma blankets resulting in it once more being tucked about the blond's extremities, with particular attention taken to ensure his bare feet, which had lingered much too long on a much too cold floor, were fully enshrouded. He seemed to need little permission for this, nor take much heed of any objection, and was off on his way already before spending the time to determine whether this move had been a welcome one or not. That seemed, in any case, to be how the man always operated, outside opinion secondary to his objectives. He accepted similarly no resistance in pushing a teacup into Jacoby's hands, before he stepped away into the dark of the house.

__

The not-too distant sounds of the front door could be heard in the silence of the house, as he tugged them shut and checked the locks. A quick check out the adjacent window showed the distinct silhouette of the remaining police car, and, satisfied enough with their relative security inside the house, he returned to the kitchen. It was quick a quick matter, then, to blow out or otherwise damper the each candle they had taken the effort to light, their dwindling numbers casting an increasingly cooler, dimmer glow about the room with only the artificial light of the electric lantern remaining.

__

Whether in haste or disinterest, he did not take the moment to consider that Jacoby might have had something more to convey in the minutes that had transpired since their last, near-silent exchange, as the hands he offered were meant only to take the teacup back and set it once more upon its tray, at whatever fullness it might have maintained. The rest of it, he suspected, would taste much the same and reheat just as well in the handful of hours left until dawn.

__

And then he found himself in much the same position he had only just vacated, and found Jacoby just as easily lifted as the last time, though he carefully bounced the blond a little further up his midsection, in an attempt not only to level their gazes, but to avoid anything any precarious slippage might otherwise imply. It was, after all, the most sensible way to both [carry someone](https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/threads/vacation-to-zombie-world-wick-jaden.16751/post-216506) and navigate the stairs and hall. That, and he did not fully trust Jacoby's bare feet upon the entryway floor, and whatever particularly sharp detritus may well have remained lost to the darkness of the house.

__

That the hand he planned to both hold and balance the blond with slipped lower, down the small of his back, to cradle the underside of a pajama-clad thigh was, he knew, merely a matter of circumstance. "Hold on," he suggested, managing at least the faint note of what might have been a questioning request amid what was otherwise a command, and he leaned back just a little to ensure Jacoby was well and truly supported by his frame before his other arm pulled away to pluck the lantern, which he lofted then to light their way.

__

Even in the dim light, and considering his recent and unceremonious arrival to the home, Reese seemed to have no issue navigating the way. He had, after all, made a quick sweep of the upper floor in his search for both its singular occupant, and any number of intruders, his instinct having taken particular pains to map well the extremities of what he'd explored. His footfalls were perhaps a bit less quiet for the added weight as they made their way down the hall, though not as much louder or weightier than he might have preferred. Again, he found himself wondering what of the man in his arms was the product of stress or grief, and what was simply how he had always been.

__

It was harder not to notice the thinness to his limbs as he set the lantern down once more upon the nightstand, and took the blond more fully into his embrace to lower him down onto the bed. The mattress dipped between their combined weight, his balance concentrated solely on the knee pressed between soft thighs as he seemed to make it almost all the way down _with_ Jacoby, careful as he was to ensure slender male had a gentle release. And yet he seemed to linger there for a moment, his warm breath not unaffected though the trip had not been a difficult one for him, Jacoby still firmly within his embrace.

__

That his hand caught briefly upon the underside of the other's shirt, and fingers brushed lightly upon the smooth skin of his back as he finally pulled his hand from between the blond and his mattress was an accident. The way the same hand found its way once more to brushing pale hair from a paler face could not have been, for as many times as he had done it so far already, and his voice was appropriately differential to the gentleness of his touch, quiet and low, though it held no particular suggestion. "Tell me what you want, Jacoby."

__

Though he sat back, the detective seemed in no hurry to gain any real distance between them. "Anything to help you sleep, or," he paused, less for dramatic effect and more to pull his dark shirt off in one, swift motion, the sweep of fabric tousling the dark hair he was still unused to keeping quite so long and unruly. Beneath it he wore a similarly dark undershirt, one thinner and more form-fitting, and as he folded his more substantial garment neatly atop his lap and the lean leg that still resided upon it, one he seemed satisfied enough to sleep in. "Anything you need to feel better."

__

His gaze lifted to Jacoby's again, and he maintained it as he extracted himself at last from both between the blond's legs and the bed itself. "I'll get it for you," he offered, with what might have been an attempt at a reassuring smile, though the way innate confidence found the edge of his lips made it near impossible for him to not look in some way too knowing. And then his gaze drifted away as his attention fell to his belt, the boxer briefs he wore beneath similarly comfortable enough. "And then we can get some sleep." Detective that he was, he suspected that, if only half as much as he had needed the hug, Jacoby could use the rest.

__

* * *

__

_"Okay," ... "Okay,"_

__

As the detective responded, and then repeated himself, Jacoby had to wonder if he had somehow misunderstood the initial question, or if his answer had been unsatisfactory in some way. He looked no less tired and no less upset when the detective stepped away, though he remained where he was perched atop the counter. So far he had been left with the impression that if the detective did something it wasn't without reason. Observing impassively as the detective returned with one of the trauma blankets and started to tuck it around him, Jacoby was further given the impression that the man possibly investigating him wasn't easily deterred by obstruction or objections.

__

Musing over the detective, and whether he was actually being investigated or not, Jacoby accepted the warm cup of tea without comment. His tears had slowed and gradually ceased, though the tear tracks remained on his cheeks and he hadn't quite managed to stifle the occasional hitch in his breath. Left alone for the first time since the break-in, he looked down into the dark liquid within his cup before taking a tentative sip. Recalling that it was caffeinated, he considered whether he should bother finishing it or not since he _had_ said yes to going to bed. While he would like to be back in his warm, comfortable bed, he wasn't sure if he'd have any luck getting much sleep.

__

By the time the detective returned, Jacoby was about halfway done with his tea and had seemed to calm down even more. If not for the evidence on his cheeks and the faint red, puffiness of his eyes, it would have been difficult to tell that he had been crying at all. Mid sip, he watched as the detective went around and put out the candles that had been lit. He had anticipated pulling an all-nighter after what had transpired, but it seemed he'd be in bed for the duration of it unless he was lucky enough to doze off. As the last of the candles were snuffed out, Jacoby decided he didn't _mind_ spending the rest of the night lying restlessly in the dark in the comfort of his own bed.

__

When the detective turned his attention to Jacoby, and the teacup he held, a look of hesitation crossed the blond's face as he continued to hold the cup almost protectively. Taking an almost defiant sip, as if to convey he would prefer to finish it now, he eventually handed off the nearly empty cup to waiting hands. Once the teacup was out of the way, Jacoby picked up his phone but made no attempt to type anything. His previous question, of what the detective would prefer to be called, still stood and as of right now he didn't really have further questions, comments, or concerns that needed to be addressed immediately.

__

_"Hold on,"_

__

In the dim light provided by the electric lantern, Jacoby was certain the color in his face persisted as the detective moved to lift him up with what felt like barely any effort. More out of instinct than anything else, his hands moved around the detective's shoulders to keep himself from slipping. If he had an opinion about being carried like this or not, he made no attempt to convey it as they made their way back into the entryway of the house before ascending the stairs. Upon reaching the second floor, and knowing his feet weren't in any danger of getting cut, he almost expected to be set down. Instead, it seemed the detective had been literal with his intent on taking Jacoby all the way to his bed. 

__

Under different circumstances, Jacoby might have found it a little funny that after everything that had happened, the detective was putting him back where he found him. Once he was comfortably placed onto the bed, he felt his limbs go slack against the plush surface. The stress of being woken up abruptly and spending a decent chunk of the last hour in a state of panic had left him physically drained, but he still doubted he'd fall asleep easily.

__

_"Tell me what you want, Jacoby."_

__

Brow furrowing in either confusion or uncertainty, Jacoby pondered what way to take the detective's words. He didn't think he needed anything, or at least didn't _require_ anything at the present time. Settled into his bed with his phone still loosely held in one hand, he reached for the comforter that had been shoved aside earlier. After a moment of introspection, he realized all he really needed was to feel safe, even if he found it unlikely there would be another break-in or anything nearly as exciting again tonight. 

__

_"Anything you need to feel better."_

__

Glancing at his trauma blanket encased feet, Jacoby considered whether he needed socks badly enough to ask for them. He didn't _like_ sleeping with socks on, but he knew it would help keep him warm. While pondering what he needed, if he needed anything at all, he belatedly realized that the detective was taking his shirt off, which was less alarming as he realized there was an undershirt beneath. Sighing, he reminded himself that _of course_ the detective might not want to sleep while fully dressed and he shouldn't read too much into perfectly innocuous gestures. 

__

_"And then we can get some sleep."_

__

Perhaps more flustered than he had any reason to be, Jacoby took to his phone to at least provide the detective with something akin to a response. More tea might have been nice, but the goal was to go to sleep, rather than further ruining his sleep schedule. He hadn't been eating much in general, but now was an odd time to be thinking of dinner or even early breakfast. The thought of a warm shower or bath crossed his mind, though he doubted there was no way to _not_ make that suggestive. 

__

__

Unknown  
  
Socks maybe?

__

_  
_

Sending the messages, but not quite done, Jacoby seemed to decide to add something else before looking up at the detective pensively. 

__

__

Unknown  
  
I think it helps if I'm not alone.  
  
I sometimes have night terrors and sleep paralysis, as a forewarning.  
  


__

_  
_

* * *

__

He was aware, as he went about folding the remainder of his clothes and nudging his boots neatly beside the corner of the bed, that Jacoby was typing, the glow of the lantern joined by one fainter as the blond tapped away on his phone. Reese was in no rush, tossing the neat pile of outerwear onto an adjacent dresser, and taking the quick moment to stretch out his limbs in some more forgiving fabric. They were on no real schedule, but he also found himself unwilling to keep the homeowner up _too_ much longer just to sort out every last, unnecessary detail.

__

Leaning over enough to take a look, the detective gave a thoughtful hum, not displeased with the answer. Come morning, he would have insisted on socks or at least slippers of some kind of before letting Jacoby out into his own house, so he certainly wouldn't deny the request now. "Where?" he asked, awaiting any necessary gestures or explanations before he was off. Even in the dim lighting he made quick work and was back it a pair he deemed suitably worthy.

__

"Up," he said, much as he had upon the truck, though this time he patted Jacoby's legs and not his own, awaiting any motion from the blond before reaching to lift his legs the rest of the way, and settling once more atop the bed beneath them. He again showed little interest in asking for permission, apparently taking the request for socks as all he needed, and he made careful but efficient work pulling Jacoby's socks on for him, satisfied to have his own whims met without having to say as much aloud.

__

In the meantime his attention, at least visually, was more focused upon the phone screen again, the soft, diffuse glow upon his face illuminating little of his probable thought process save the eventual, faint arch of his brow, which could have meant many things. For one, Jacoby never would have been alone; a combination of distrust in both him and his circumstances meant Reese saw no need to chance it. And beyond distrust, he couldn't see abandoning a grown man who quite so resembled a kicked puppy to a cold, dark night.

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"As long as you aren't planning on any night murders," Reese decided, only half-joking, though his tone wasn't nearly as stern as it could have been, "I think I'll manage." Having yet to vacate his position, he offered the last smile he could as he leaned over the blond, consequentially bending Jacoby's legs along with him, his reach making quick work of the lantern. But for the glow of the phone, and the intermittent flash of distant thunder and occasional peeks of moonlight from the windows, darkness took the room.

__

Though he pulled back from the lantern, its soft afterglow enough only to emit its own outline, he did not pull back from Jacoby in the same way, the bed dipping as he poised a palm on either side of the blond's torso, upon which he pushed most of his weight. His voice finally rumbled from the dark, quiet, but no less deep for the effort. "I know we just met," though he had spent weeks already mired in the tragedy of Jacoby's life, and it hardly felt an honest thing to say. "And I know I'm another man." Even with his professed familiarity with the other, he couldn't have guessed they'd land in such circumstances, or how Jacoby would react.

__

But he hadn't been rebuffed so far, at least.

__

Deciding that showing was better than telling, Reese finally moved, able to slip from beneath Jacoby to the bed beside him, tugging the blond against him and the comforter over the both of them before any reaction could stop him. "But I'm going to hold you tonight, if that's okay." He figured, at least, that explaining that was what was _going_ to happen better achieve an honest response from anyone in Jacoby's position than simply asking for permission. It would be too easy to say no because of ego if he'd bothered to give options, and much harder to admit the preferred answer might have been yes. It would also be much more manageable to say no _now_ , if Jacoby _really_ didn't appreciate the effort.

__

Suspecting, even if based only on their foray atop the counter, that he knew what the answer would be, Reese pressed onward, his hand falling tentatively upon the flat of Jacoby's stomach first, before his touch sank more securely, and warmth seeped between them. "You show me how, okay?" It was invisible in the dark, but the subsequent smile upon his lips was easily heard in his voice. "I'll even be the little spoon, if that will make you feel better."

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* * *

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_"Where?"_

__

__

Unknown  
  
In the closet.  
  
There's a dresser inside, the top drawer on the right-hand side.

__

_  
_

After typing up his response and giving the detective time to read it, Jacoby nodded his head towards an antique privacy screen that was situated in front of the closet door. The privacy screen stood roughly a meter away from the door itself and would present no problems for one trying to get in or out of the closet. Inside of the closet was the dresser Jacoby had mentioned, but also rows of clothes hanging on either side as well as a set of small shoe racks. One side was consisted entirely of men's clothing, while the other _presumably_ had belonged to Jacoby's late-wife.

__

Within Jacoby's sock drawer were a few rows of a few varieties of socks. Nearly half of the drawer was dress socks in a variety of [darkly](https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/threads/a-city-darkly-wick-jaden.16749/) hued colors, while the other half was a mix of warmer options. A cursory inspection of the other half of the drawer, and the rows of neatly arranged woolen socks, would indicate that Jacoby did usually make an effort to keep his feet warm. Finally, at the far end of the drawer was a number of fuzzy socks.

__

_"Up,"_

__

When the detective came back with a pair of socks, Jacoby inched aside to give the detective more room on the bed. The hand that patted his leg, and the single word that accompanied it, prompted him to lift his legs long enough for the detective to get situated beneath them. As the detective slipped his socks onto his feet, Jacoby let his head fall back against the softness of the pillows to stare blankly at the ceiling.

__

_"I think I'll manage."_

__

Jacoby sighed, his gaze not wavering from the spot he had fixated on above. He was aware that he was likely still being investigated and that the break-in had only hastened his and the detective's meeting, but that too seemed to be a conversation for the morning. With nothing further to say, at least not regarding his already professed innocence, Jacoby made no move to type anything else as he moved to set his phone beside the lantern on the nightstand. To his surprise, the detective started to lean over and Jacoby's attention diverted sharply from the ceiling to settle on the detective's face. As darkness filled the room, a shiver ran down the length of his body, but as expected he said nothing.

__

_"And I know I'm another man."_

__

In their present position, and with the detective's choice of words, Jacoby might have panicked if not for the fact that he already knew the man above him was here to solve a crime, not commit one. He knew he was being ridiculous, but he still couldn't bring himself to relax, let alone reach the level of comfort necessary to fall asleep. If he'd had his voice, and wasn't already a flustered, anxious mess, he might have pointed out that the detective being male was hardly an issue.

__

_"But I'm going to hold you tonight, if that's okay."_

__

When the detective started to move to settle beside him, Jacoby's head once more fell back against the pillows. Dismayed, he realized he was tense and his head was starting to hurt, though he doubted it hurt nearly as much as being on the wrong end of an airborne vase. Unable to see what the detective was doing, Jacoby jumped a little as he was pulled closer until he was pressed against the detective. Even if he was tense and awake all night, he was glad that with their shared body heat, the socks, and the comforter, he'd at least be warm.

__

_"I'll even be the little spoon, if that will make you feel better."_

__

Speaking of warmth, Jacoby could still feel a flush across his face and couldn't help but be glad that the detective couldn't see. Inhaling softly, then exhaling, he managed to relax a little as a hand settled across his stomach. The question posed in the dark caused him to nod in response, a gesture that, while unseen, he'd hoped would be felt through their close proximity. It was the mention of _spooning_ that caused him to shift a bit, turning onto his side and moving to press his back against the detective's front. As an afterthought, he moved to rest one of his hands over the one that had taken residence over his stomach. It was the closest thing he could give to a 'goodnight' as he closed his eyes and waited to drift off. 

__

* * *

__

" _Right_ ," Reese affirmed quietly, lifting his arm just a bit to welcome Jacoby into his embrace, apparently satisfied enough with the choice to comply. In the dark, he was smiling, though he couldn't quite pinpoint why, more amused than he likely should have been by the blond's reaction to what, reasonably, came down to intimacy. He saw this as little different than what they had done in the kitchen, if not the more highly efficient variation. Jacoby would be warm, safe, comfortable, able to sleep, and able, he hoped, to take similar solace in this that a hug could provide.

__

With Jacoby against him, Reese sought to pull the blond that much closer to him, a gentle tug enough for what space had remained between them to be vanquished completely. He was, if it was not already apparent, not a man to do things by halves. So his chin, too, found its way to the blond's shoulder, his breath warm, the low rumble of his voice quiet, but easy enough to feel reverberate from his chest in their current position.

__

"If you need to get up," he breathed, shifting his hand illustratively beneath Jacoby's, which had the side effect of his fingers sliding softly across the other male's midriff, "you can just let me know here, okay?" The nod had been a sufficient response the first time, and now that a simple turn of his head would give him access to the homeowner's pale neck, he supposed it would be doubly effective. "I won't go anywhere, or let you go." Whatever Jacoby felt about this, the quiet of the words suggested that they were meant as a reassurance and not a threat, at least. "And I won't let anything happen to you."

__

He'd already proven as much; of that, at least, he was fairly certain.

__

"And if you want to talk..." Beyond that, he didn't bother to elaborate, simply offering a shrug against the slighter male's back, before shifting just a little bit closer and a little more comfortably, seemingly unbothered by the way Jacoby's body now followed the curve of his own. He had spent the better part of the last hour or so reading over the blond's shoulder, in any case, and saw no reason why it wouldn't work just as well in its most literal interpretation. He might, from his vantage point, even catch the quick things fingers typed only to erase before they were gone, though his primary interest was in lulling the other into a sense of comfort and then, eventually, into some much needed and _actually_ restful sleep.

__

The brunette sighed, letting his eyes fall shut for the moment as his head dipped more into the slope of the blond's shoulder, satisfied that the glow from the phone would reach him even like this. Otherwise, he seemed very comfortable himself, and allowed himself the chance to privately luxuriate in the difference a large, comfortable bed and a soft, pleasantly fragrant bedmate could make over the musty motel he'd spent the better part of the last two weeks holed up in. So if his lips brushed softly against the hem of Jacoby's shirt and the barest breadth of skin as he spoke, he could hardly be bothered.

__

"It's Reese, by the way."

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* * *

__

_"If you need to get up," ... "you can just let me know here, okay?"_

__

Once more Jacoby gave a slight nod of his head to confirm both that he was still awake, but also that he'd heard the detective. He thought for a moment whether he'd have any reason to get up between now and daylight. Nothing came to mind, though he supposed it'd be interesting to find out if he had taken up sleepwalking without realizing it. Certain that his parasomnias were on the more mundane side, he doubted it.

__

_"And I won't let anything happen to you."_

__

Giving a quiet, gentle sigh Jacoby gave another nod. He knew he was safe, there was a patrol car outside and a detective in his bed, but knowing and feeling were two different things. Cracking his eyes open slightly, he looked across towards the window and wondered what the chances were of more than one crime being committed against him in one night. If his wife's murderer had any intention of returning to the scene of their first crime, he had a feeling tonight wouldn't be the [night](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fhw9hCkN174).

__

_"And if you want to talk..."_

__

Quiet as ever, Jacoby made no move to do or say anything as he let his eyes slip shut once more. He still wasn't tired, but the warmth, comfort, and feeling of safety was starting to help him relax enough that he was hopeful he might be able to get _some_ rest. The feeling of warm breath across his neck caused him to shiver, though not in a way that indicated he'd had a negative reaction to it. If anything, this was a glaring reminder to him of just how long it had been since he'd last been _physically_ close to another person.

__

_"It's Reese, by the way."_

__

Jacoby played the name over in his head, glad to finally have less formal to refer to the detective who was currently spooning him. He couldn't really imagine using 'Detective Richards' after this, at least not with a profound sense of seriousness. Pondering the man beside him, Jacoby was brought back to the fact that he was, presumably, still being investigated. That did make him wonder how well the investigation was going behind the scenes, whether any other leads had been followed, if other leads had all been exhausted, or if the authorities were absolutely certain he was guilty.

__

As more time passed, Jacoby would occasionally shift around restlessly, as if he wanted to get up, but didn't want to disturb Reese for no reason. Eventually, perhaps much later than either of them would have liked, he finally drifted off into a quiet, peaceful slumber. Free of nightmares, Jacoby's only notable movement or actions as the hours passed by was to gradually turn himself around and entangle his legs with Reese's.

__


End file.
